Normality
by bipping
Summary: Roderich has always had an imaginary friend. Ludwig has spent his career teaching children their friends are imaginary. But what if he's wrong? What if Roderich's imaginary friend is real? Ludwig's about to discover he might not be as normal as he thought
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **

Oh my God! I haven't uploaded anything in so long! And I'm keeping all you guys reading Reversal in a hell of a lot of suspense.

I apologise. I'm currently undergoing a few technical difficulties. Also, I've hit a wall with Reversal. I'm halfway through the final chapter, and know exactly how I want it to end, but something unexpected has come up, and it's taking me forever to tie up the story now I have to take this particular plot line into consideration.

(There's also the fact that my laptop seems to have broken and I can't bring myself to tell my father... Damn, I suck)

To make up for my lack of upload-y-ness, and the fact I probably won't upload anything in forever, please enjoy the prologue of one of three stories I've been working on.

Don't own Hetalia. Apologies for spelling and grammar.

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><p>Ludwig Beilschmidt was normal. There was nothing minutely abnormal about him. He was tall, blonde and German. He lived with his wife, Felicia, who was decidedly less normal than him, and occasionally their sofa would be claimed by her older brother, who was even more abnormal than his twin, for a week or so. Ludwig had lost his own brother some sixteen years ago, but, despite being six at the time, he still remembered him all too well. After all, it's almost impossible to forget someone as awesome as Gilbert Beilschmidt.<p>

The morning of which Ludwig Beilschmidt became less normal, and began his decline into abnormality, started as any other.

Ludwig worked as a psychiatrist, helping children with imaginary friends accept that their friends are imaginary. Every morning, he'd wake up at half-five precisely, shower and dress before his alarm, which went off at six to wake his wife, who worked in a primary school, teaching young children to draw. Felicia would bid him a sleepy good morning before falling asleep. He would slick back his hair, gather his papers into his briefcase, and then spend twenty or so minutes trying to coax her out of bed. Once up and ready, she would make herself pasta and kiss him goodbye.

That morning had been no different.

He pulled his car into it's space and made his way to his office, where his secretary, a Japanese man by the name of Honda Kiku, would greet him politely and hand him his schedule.

That morning, his schedule had been slightly different.

He noticed he had an interview with a Mr and Mrs Edelstein that he had previously been unaware of. But he shrugged it off, assuming it would be the same as usual; two concerned parents coming to him for advice on dealing with their child and their imaginary friend.

His first patient was his oldest, and by far his most delusional. Arthur Kirkland was twelve, and had an abundance of friends that didn't seem to disappear, no matter how many years of therapy the lad had been exposed to.

After Arthur came a pair of brothers; one who saw fairies, one who saw a puffin. The brothers were followed by an eight-year-old American who was convinced an alien named Tony and a whale named Whale lived under his bed, and that his house was haunted by the ghosts of former American presidents.

His next patient, Matthew Williams, never showed up.

And then it was time for him to meet the Edelsteins.

They looked like the sort of people who would only come to him as a final resort. They were both dressed formally, although the woman had a slight kink in her long, dark hair. It looked as though she'd attempted to hold it back with some form of jewelry. Her husband, dressed in a suit, nodded politely at Ludwig by way of greeting. They sat in the seats placed in front of his desk, and waited.

"Guten Tag," he began. "I'm Dr. Ludwig Beil-"

"Oh, thank God!" the man exclaimed in German. "You speak German!"

"Ja, I do," Ludwig replied cautiously in his mother tongue. "I grew up in Berlin."

"And how long have you lived here?" the woman asked politely.

"Five or six years... But I believe I am meant to be interviewing you."

"Ah, yes, of course," the man sighed with a clear sense of superiority. "I'm Johann Edelstein, und this is my wife, Elyse."

"And you are here on behalf of...?"

Elyse began to frown. "On behalf of our son, Roderich."

Ludwig brought his gaze to meet that of the worried woman. "Tell me about him."

She cast a quick glance at her husband before beginning, "He's a beautiful boy, Doctor. Smart, polite, plays the piano like some kind of genius... but he's always had this imaginary friend..."

"I thought," interrupted Johann as his wife trailed off, "that moving- we're from Austria, you see- might do him some good. Elyse had relatives here, we thought it's be a nice change of scenery."

"We moved here when he was five," she sighed, "and his imaginary friend came with us."

"We tried everything; therapists, medication, nothing seems to work. You're the first public psychiatrist we've come to."

Nodding, Elyse added. "Until now, we used only professionals private therapists. We took him to private clinics. We never thought it'd come to this..."

Ludwig bobbed his head in a nod, as though any of that made sense to him.

"The thing is, he doesn't want his imaginary friend," she continued. "We hear him yelling and screaming at it, telling it to get out, shouting that he hates it... he throws things at it sometimes... it's gotten to the point that he-" She paused for a moment, taking a deep steadying breath as her husband wrapped his arm loving around her shoulders. "He cuts himself. Then- then he denies doing it... blames it on his friend..."

"Can you help him?" asked Johann, stroking the back of his crying wife's hand. "We just want our son to be normal. We want this all to stop."

"Of course. I'll take the boy on, see what I can do," Ludwig attempted to smile, but, being Ludwig, it came out as more of a grimace. "When can he start?"

"As soon as possible!" stated Elyse, a little too enthusiastically.

"So, today?" asked Ludwig, glancing over at his schedule. "What time?"

"Well, Roddy has a piano recital after school, so..." she looked up at her husband, who finished the sentence for her.

"How's ten o'clock for you?" Johann ventured.

"That should be fine... Isn't ten a little past the boy's bedtime?"

Elyse chuckled sadly. "That's why we're so concerned, Doctor. You see, our son- your patient- is seventeen-years-old."

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><p><strong>Extended an: **

So this idea occurred to me yesterday, and I grabbed paper and wrote it down. It's rated for later chapters. I have a vague idea where I want to go with it, but it'll take me a while to get there.

It's rated for later chapters, because, as previously stated, I have a vague outline of the story in my head.

I think this is a pretty decent prologue, to be honest. It sets the scene and shizz.

Although I really hate to admit it, we live in a society where the majority class being homosexual as being abnormal. That;s why I had to genderbend Italy in this story, because if Germany was gay, then it'd decrease his normality level (as determined by society, as it's society that gets to go around telling us if we're normal or not. I hate it personally. Who wants top be judged by people they've never met?), and he really needs to be completely normal. Bog-standard and all that jazz.

I apologize if I've offended anyone. I didn't mean to. I don't believe you're determined by your sexuality. I don't believe it's abnormal to be homosexual. But each to his very little own, eh?

This feels similar to Reversal (which I haven't forgotten about, and will finish as soon as I dig myself out of the self-dug ditch I've made with it), and the plot feels similar, and I'd really appreciate if you guys who have read Reversal could review with whether it's similar to you as an auidence, or if it's just me.

And now I feel bad again, asking you to review. But I can't help it; they make me feel loved :3


	2. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

Thanks to everyone who's read this! It means a lot! Thanks especially to those of you who reviewed and stuff. You're the reason I'm posting this chapter right now. You all seemed really excited about this getting updated, so I decided to give this story priority for a while.

There's also the fact that I am really, really excited about this fanfic for a reason unknown to me completely.

I don't own Hetalia. Sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes. This was typed on my iPod/phone/whatever, and auto-correct is a bitch.

I'm gonna try and put that line thing here, but I'm using my phone to sort this out, so I can't guarantee it will work. If it doesn't, the next line is the first line of the story, not the a/n.

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><p>Chapter One<p>

It was the same thing every single day. Wake up, pretend to be normal, go to school, pretend to be normal, come home, pretend to be normal. And sometimes, on top of all that, he had to pretend to be normal.

He was sick of it.

He didn't want to pretend to be normal; he wanted to be normal.

But at least he wasn't insane.

He wasn't.

He honestly was not insane. No sir, not a bit.

Because you see, Elizaveta could see him too. Hell, do you really think the uptight son of two Austrian diplomats would be friends with the wild, assertive madwoman that was Elizaveta Hérdeváry otherwise? Would someone of his social standing and refined upbringing really be on such decent terms with a girl whose best friend was a cross-dresser, and whose parents were rumoured to have entered the country on, shall we say, less than legal circumstances?

No. No he would not.

He would think Elizaveta was the scum of the Earth, as his parents very clearly did, were it not for what had occurred that day, some nine years previous.

That day had been the first time someone beside Roderich had seen him.

It'd been sunny, for once. As it was Spring, his mother hadn't trusted the weather to stay that way, and forced his nanny to make sure she took an umbrella, as well as attempting to force his scarf around his neck, and his gloves onto his fingers.

He was used to being fussed over in such a manner, and so thought nothing of it, but the boy beside Roderich snarled and folded his arms.

"It's not fair!" he whined. "Why does everyone care so much about you, Priss? They can't even see me!"

"That's because you're not real," replied Roderich, who, at the age of eight, had come to terms with the fact he was far too old and of too high a status to still have an imaginary friend, let alone one that annoyed him as much as this one did. "No one else can see you because you're not real, dumkoft."

Some level of hurt had entered the boy's red eyes. "I'm too awesome to not be real!" he yelled, his voice wavering.

Roderich shook his head and sighed.

"Roderich, who are you talking to?" called his nanny, for she was new and had not been informed of the Austrian's little issue with his imagination yet.

Looking very pointedly at the albino stood before him, Roderich yelled, "No one," back to her.

He had never seen the Prussian look so angry. He had turned on his heel and stormed ahead.

Roderich was glad to get away from him for a while.

He failed to understand why he, someone who was faultless, had such a flawed imagination.

I mean, not only was he annoying, and foul-mouthed, and slightly perverted at times, but the boy claimed to be the last surviving Prussian. As in, from Prussia. Prussia, a country that had looked down upon his great nation of Austria for years.

And he had a stupid name.

Because seriously, who calls their imaginary friend Gilbert?

I believe I had a pet unicorn named Rainbow, or Twilight, or Sunshine, or some equally fitting unicorn-type name.

But I digress; this is not the tale of the vertically challenged English teenager who should probably seek professional help for her numerous mental issues, this is the tale of the perfect Austrian teenager who excelled in everything, except, of course, growing up.

Because you haven't grown up really, not if you still have an imaginary friend.

For all Roderich's maturity, he could not grow up until he banished the bastard.

So, as Gilbert quickened his pace to get to the desired destination, Rodrich dropped his.

He arrived at the park a good fifteen minutes after Gilbert, and was very sorry to see that, in that time, Gilbert seemed to have made a new friend.

At least, Gilbert was interacting with someone.

To be exact, the Prussian was getting beaten up by a girl in a muddy shirt and ripped trousers, whose dark ratty hair hung in two matted uneven bunches, one either side of her face. Her green eyes were glistening with menace, Gilbert's own red pair with tears.

As his nanny opened her mouth to request he did not befriend the wild hooligan rolling around in the mud, Roderich stormed over there, his heart twisted by the unfamiliar pang of jealousy.

Gilbert was his, and only his. Despite how much he wanted to, he was the only one who could see him. This made him special. They had a bond.

But now this girl had broken it, because from the looks of things, she could see him too.

"And if you ever show you Godforsaken Prussian ass around here again, I will personally grind your bones into bread and give it to the Russian who lives in my building! I bet he'd fancy a-"

"Excuse me," scowled Roderich, his arms folded, foot tapping against the floor impatiently, "but may I kindly request that you cease what you are doing this instant?"

The girl froze. She began to scowl.

Her scowl was erased from her lips the second she saw Roderich.

Her eyes widened. She was filled with the overwhelming feeling of familiarity, like she knew the boy, when she clearly didn't.

She let go of Gilbert, who dusted himself off and informed the Young Master that he "didn't need a prissy prat like himself to fight his battles for the awesome him."

"Friend of yours, is he?" she asked, her voice filled with scorn.

"Not in so many words," the Austrian replied, noting her accent and attempting to place it. East European, he assumed. She was probably from someplace like Romania, or Bulgaria.

Gilbert's jaw dropped. "The awesome me is your only friend, specs, and you better suck it up and learn to accept that!"

He would have lectured the other two about how awesome he was for a good deal longer, were he not silenced by a sharp blow to the ear.

"Give it a rest," snarled the girl. "No one wants to hear the opinion of an idiot ambassador from a country that doesn't exist anymore!"

He stood there for a while, recovering from the punch, rubbing his ears.

Roderich watched the girl curiously from over his glasses. "So you really can see him..."

"O- of course I can..." she replied hesitantly. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"

Gilbert growled. "Because the Young Master here is convinced I'm his imaginary friend."

"Imaginary... friend?" She looked from Gilbert to Roderich, her eyes narrowed.

Roderich nodded. "You're the first person I've ever met who can see him and hear him as well as I can."

She cocked her head to the side. "Does that mean I'm crazy?"

"No... It just means you're abnormal... like me."

The corner of her mouth began to twitch. "D'ya have a name?"

"What?"

"Do you have a name? Or d'ya want me to call you "Abnormal" for the rest of forever?"

He shook his head and extended his hand. "Roderich. Roderich Edelstein."

Gripping his hand tightly with her own filthy one, she said, "Elizavata."

"And your surname?" he asked, withdrawing his hand.

Again, her gaze narrowed, but not with curiosity. It became distrustful. "Why d'you want to know?"

"Why does he do anything, unawesome little aristocrat," muttered Gilbert, angry that he was with the only two people in the world who could see him, and they were both ignoring him.

"It's bad manners to only give out half of one's name," Roderich replied, shooting Gilbert a look. "It makes it look like you have something to hide."

"And what if I do?"

"You do what?"

"Have something to hide?" She smiled slyly. "Maybe that's why I don't want you knowing my surname."

"Be that as it may, miss, we aren't aquatinted enough for first names yet-"

His sentence was drowned by her sudden splash of laughter.

"Oh, Roddy, you're hilarious!" Elizaveta cooed. "And your cheeks are heating up... You look adorable!"

"Um, miss, I'd appreciate it if you called me 'Roderich'," he requested politely.

She continued to beam, then nodded.

"C'mon Roddy," she yelled, grabbing his hand. She turned to Gilbert and grabbed his. "You too Gil! Let's go!"

That evening, Roderich had been in more trouble than ever before.

His clothes were filthy, his shoes were scuffed, his knees were grazed, and he had a slight kink in his hair that neither his nanny nor his mother could brush out.

His mother had sent him to bed without supper.

He had snuggled up under his covers and closed his eyes, ignoring his stomachs rumbling.

"Hérdeváry," said Gilbert.

"What?" Roderich asked, sitting up, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

The albino was sat in the corner of the room. He'd been awfully quiet, but he often was whenever Roderich got into trouble.

"That girl from earlier," he explained. "Her surname was Hérdeváry."

"And you know that how?" Roderich lay his head back down on his pillow.

"The awesome me followed her home."

"You did what?" he whispered angrily, trying not to speak too loud. He didn't want to attract his parents attention. "Why the hell would you do that?"

He shrugged. "So I can go see her when you're being stupid and unawesome and pretending I don't exist. This is a big deal for me, priss. I've... No one other than you can see me. You're kinda my only friend. But by default! If everyone else could see me and my overwhelming awesomeness, I'd be the most popular guy on the planet!"

"Whatever." Roderich rolled onto his side, facing away from Gilbert.

The Prussian sighed. "But it should be a big deal for you too, ya know."

"Hmm? Why d'you think that?" mumbled the boy sleepily.

"You only have me."

Roderich's violet eyes flew open. "I-"

"The awesome me knows you're gonna call me a liar, but I'm not. I just think that maybe it'd be nice for the two of us to have a new friend, even if she is über annoying and has way too many anger issues."

The boy smiled slightly. "That wasn't what I was going to say Gil."

"Hmm? Was it not?" His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "What was it then, specs?"

He rolled over and mumbled into his pillow, barely loud enough for him to hear, and certainly not loud enough for Gilbert to hear. "I like it just being the two of us."

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><p><strong>Extened an: **

So this chapter isn't that long, and it's kind of just one massive flashback. I'm still setting up the stadge, making sure all the players are in position, putting the final touches on the scenery. No need to worry though, the curtains will come up soon, and hopefully the play will bepreformed as planned.

I think I'm abouthalfway through the next chapter. Just an advanced warning, it does feature a couple genderbent characters. This is mainly because the actual character is going to feature at a later point. None of the genderbends are gonna be main characters, with the exception of fem!Italy, from the last chapter.

Also, you may remember that Prussia was mentioned briefly in the last chapter. I haven't forgotten what was said in the prologue, but reading through this, I feel like I'm contradicting myself. I know that I'm not.

It will all make more sense as the story progresses, I promise.

On another point, I feel like everyone was slightly out of character. I apologise for that.

Finally, my father was informed of the techniqual issue with my laptop today. He's gonna oaks it somewhere on Monday. If that comes back repaired, I swear I will ignore my issues with Reversal and finish that, then get to work typing up the other chapters I have written for "Insert Witty Title Here" and "The Ressurection of Roma Vargas", as well as maybe a couple of one-shots, because, due to my lack of laptop-ness, I missed Spain and Japan's birthdays (which happen to be the same day and the day after mine!), and I had a story I'd written for that which will have to wait for next year. But until then, this is my priority.

Expect the next chapter in the next week. I mean, I know I said that about a month ago with Reversal, but I mean it this time. I hope.

So yeah, hope you enjoyed, sorry if you didn't. Leave a review if you so desire. They might stop Hungary from grinding Prussia's bones into bread, then giving the bread to Russia, who will probably force Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia to eat it, and Belarus will probably steal some, which will upset Ukraine, because no big sister wants to see their little sister reduced to stealing bread, trust me, I know.


	3. Chapter Two

Author's Note:

Trying to keep this brief, because I think this is one of the longest things I've ever uploaded, without a seriously long a/n.

This chapter hasswearing in it, as well as characters who feel OOC to me. Please to easy on me for my spelling and grammar. I tried my best, but auto-correct's a bitch.

Thanks go to everyone who has reviewed this. Me and Prussia are very, very grateful.

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

"Roddy! Roddy-"

There was a sharp bang, and the two students ended up on the floor under what was almost a mountain of sheet music. The boy's violin case slid across the floor, tripping up a smaller, more timid boy, who ended up face first on the cold plastic, and the girl's fragile flute case snapped at the hinges, leaving

fragments of the silver instrument scattered across the hall.

"Morning Elizaveta," the boy mumbled, rubbing the side of his head. "Must you always make such an impressive entrance?"

She giggled, standing up and offering her hand to the boy. "It's one of the things you love about me, Roddy-dearest."

Shaking his head, Roderich declined her hand, choosing instead to scrummage through the paper now decorating the floor before-

"Every Goddamn morning! What the hell is wrong with you Edelstein?"

"Shut it Vash!" snarled Elizaveta, whipping her head round to face the boy with short jagged blonde hair and jeering green eyes. "We both know it's my fault he's on the floor!"

"Ha, Hérdeváry, do you have any idea how sexual that sounded?" chuckled a boy with hair that fell in gravity defying layers across his face, who had gathered all the segments of her flute and held them out to her.

Blushing furiously, she snatched them from him. "Shut it Mathias! Roddy doesn't like me like that!"

"What about you?" the Dane cocked an eyebrow. "Do you like him like that?"

"Why the fuck does it matter?" she yelled. "Don't you have a lesson to go to?"

Mathias shrugged. "It's not like I need to hurry. Got English with Professor Oxenstierna. He'll be too busy fucking that Finnish kid to show up on-"

"W'nt ta f'n'sh th't s'nt'ce?"

Face filling with colour, Mathias gulped, and turned to face his English teacher, who was just watching him with those unfathomable blue eyes.

"No sir!" he replied, grinning cockily, even though he was more than a little intimidated.

The Swede nodded, then turned away in the direction of his room.

Elizaveta began to grin, and her cheeks returned to their natural colouring, a gleam to her green eyes. "So the rumours; are they true? About Oxenstierna and that Year Eleven?"

Mathias tapped his nose. "The kid's name is Tino Väinämöinen, he lives in my road. I've yet to ask him about it, but he's the one all the teachers are on about."

"Tino Väinämöinen... I know that name..." Elizaveta paused in thought for a moment.

"He's about yay high, blonde, sparkly purple eyes that sometimes look brown-"

"Hangs out with Toris' cousin!" Elizaveta snapped her fingers. "I know him now!"

At the mention of his name, Toris, the boy who had fallen over Roderich's violin, looked up and said, "What about m-my cousin?"

"He's friends with the kid Professor Oxenstierna is meant to be sleeping with or harassing or stalking or something," said Mathias.

Toris shook his head. "I d-don't know why it's such a big deal t-that P-p-professor Oxenstierna's supposedly sleeping with a student. Ms. Bonnefoy's been d-d-doing it for years and no one's ever reprimanded her for it..."

Elizaveta smiled sadly. "Your stutter's starting to come back."

Toris nodded. "B-but it's not as b-b-bad as b-before, right?"

"I don't think it could ever be as bad as before, even if you tried," observed Mathias. "But I just remembered, I'm way too awesome to be talking to any of you, and I'm pretty sure I hate you all, so, I'll be leaving now."

From the floor, where he was helping Roderich pick up his sheet music, Gilbert growled,"If only he could see me, I'd show the bastard a thing or two about awesome!"

Roderich sighed. "Gilbert, for the thousandth time, go away!"

Dropping to her knees, Elizaveta whispered to him, "Does a certain Prussian want to get better aquatinted with my Frying Pan, Roddy?"

Attempting to mimic her accent, Gilbert muttered, "Yes, Roddy-kins, we should take out how miserably unawesome we are on the awesomest dude here!"

"I don't sound anything like that!" cried Elizaveta, horrified.

"You do! Tell her she does, specs! Tell the Frying Pan Bitch I just did the most awesome imitation of her ever!"

Roderich merely sighed. "You two are possibly the most annoying people on Earth, are you aware of that?"

They both just glared daggers at each other.

He shuddered slightly. If looks could kill...

But fortunately, they can't, otherwise three of the main protagonists in this chapter would most likely be dead, and then we'd be left with very little story to tell.

With all the sheet music gathered up, Roderich set about sifting through it. There were Elizaveta's pieces for her flute, and his violin pieces, and his piano pieces, and everything had to be straight and perfect and-

"Priss, you're doing it again."

"What?" Roderich snapped from his almost trancelike state. "What was I doing?"

Gilbert shuddered. "Freaking the hell out of the awesome me."

This earned him an unimpressed Austrian snort. "And how exactly am I doing that?"

"Your eyes were glazing over," mumbled Elizaveta, looking down at Roderich's pale, slender fingers. "You were just staring at the music and you were shaking slightly."

Nodding, Gilbert added, "Maybe you have OCD. You should probably go see someone-"

"I DON'T NEED TO SEE ANYONE!" Roderich found himself yelling.

Elizaveta and Gilbert stared at him with confused expressions of bewilderment.

He took a deep breath in, calmed himself down, and said, "I don't need help. I'm completely normal."

Roderich had been seeing people for years, at his parents insistence, because of his little problem with Gilbert, but there was no need; Elizaveta saw him too, proving Roderich wasn't insane and didn't need the help his parents forced on him.

Still, OCD... He took a moment to consider it. He did like things to be perfect and straight, but there was no way he was-

"No," he nodded. "I'm completely normal."

The two looked at him with concerned eyes. He stood, handing the smaller of the two piles of paper to Elizaveta.

"Can't be late for Catering," he said, in an attempt to change the subject. He turned on his heel and made his way in the direction of his Catering room.

"Roderich," Elizaveta called.

He spun around to face her. She had gotten up from her position on the floor and was stood still, watching him. Gilbert too was watching him, although he still crouched on the floor.

"Catering's second block."

"Oh... What do I have now then?"

Her gaze flicked from his confused violet eyes, and focused instead on the file he held in his hand. "Music theory."

Of course. That was why he was carrying all this sheet music around.

He nodded, realising he was stood in the Music corridor. His classroom was slightly further down.

He began to walk towards it.

"M-mr Edelstein-"

"Mien Gott, what now?"

He turned to face a trembling Toris, who extended his arms and flinched at the tone his voice was decorated with. He held the violin he had fallen over.

"I- I j-just thought you might n-n-need your violin," the boy said nervously, avoiding Roderich's gaze.

"Right," he nodded, reaching out to receive the instrument. "Thanks."

"D-d-don't mention it," Toris attempted a timid smile, before he was quickly pulled away by a very animated Elizaveta and her interrogation as to when Toris would "man the hell up and ask Feliks out".

Roderich shook his head at Elizaveta's matchmaking. It was something she did often, although she tended to sidestep around setting any of her heterosexual friends up, choosing instead to indulge her expertise on those she knew or suspected to be gay. Her own sexual preference was a mystery.

"What's up with you today, specs?" asked Gilbert, following him into the almost empty classroom.

"What do you mean?" Roderich replied quietly, not wanting to look as though he was talking to himself.

"You're in an unawesome mood, you know?" he explained, sitting on Roderich's desk as opposed to the seat next to him. "You're yelling and getting hostile and stuff."

Sighing, Roderich mumbled, "I overheard my parents talking. They've found somewhere new to send me."

"Where?"

"Some psychiatrist... I believe his name was Beilschmidt."

Gilbert froze. "Beilschmidt... That sounds awfully familiar... You spoken with him before?"

Before Roderich could answer, the girl taking the seat next to him slammed her guitar case on the table and said, "Yeah, Dr. Beilschmidt. I think his first name is Ludwig, but I could be wrong."

Gilbert's gaze narrowed. "Who invited that unawesome bitch into the conversation?" he growled.

Taking her seat, she glanced up, almost as though she had heard Gilbert, and asked, "You were talking to me, right Edelstein?"

Not wanting to say otherwise, he nodded. "Yes, I was- hey Alice?"

"Hmm?" The blonde had busied herself with attempting to remove the messenger bag slung around her shoulders. It appeared to be caught in her hair.

"How do you know Dr. Beilschmidt?"

"Oh," she succeeded in dislodging the strap from where it had gotten stuck in her scruffy bunches, "because of my brother."

Roderich raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you had a brother."

Alice burst into laughter. "Please, a brother? I have six. Four older, two younger."

"Oh..." Roderich wasn't sure how he was unaware of this.

"Yeah. They're all wankers. Arthur's the only one actually in professional help, but frankly, they all need it."

Failing to hide his curiosity, Roderich asked, "So this Arthur, he's the one speaking to Dr. Beilschmidt? Is it working?"

She shrugged. "It's not like I talk to the tosser; how the fuck am I meant to know?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," swearing always caused Roderich to feel like he was in the presence of much lower class of person, "I just assumed, what with him being your brother-"

"Let me tell you something about assumption, Edelstein," Alice interrupted, an expression of displeasure on her face,"it makes an arse out of you, and an arse out of me."

Gilbert chuckled."I get that! That's kind of clever. Priss, tell the unawesome bitch that was kinda clever."

"Fair point," he nodded his head. "And I love how it matches the letters in "assume". It's quite clever."

She smiled slightly at his compliment, and nodded her head in gratitude, whilst Gilbert protested, "Woah, specs, the awesome me told you it was kinda clever, not quite clever! Don't want the bitch to grow too big for her unawesome boots, do you? I mean, she's English; she was practically born with a superiority complex, do you really want to feed that ego?"

Roderich shoved his arm out and promptly pushed the Prussian off the table.

Gilbert burst into a fit of angry German that only Roderich could hear or understand. He pushed himself off of the floor, and angrily headed out of the classroom door, muttering something sinister under his breath.

The entire class jumped as the door slammed shut. Excluding Roderich, of course. But he was different, so he didn't count. He could see Gilbert open it. To the others, the door must have opened and closed on it's own.

The majority of the lesson passed by in uneventful bliss. The teacher had a quiet word with Roderich about the concert he was taking part in after school, and he completed all of the set work in record time. He barely spoke another two words to Alice, who, despite having the seat next to him, wasn't exactly his friend. Although she sometimes spoke in a refined, elegant manner, nothing could quell her strong rebellious spirit. She was foul-mouthed, and-

"Hey Edelstein?"

-and she appeared to be talking to him.

"Yes?" he replied, rising and placing his files in his bag.

"If you don't mind my asking, why do you need to go speak to Dr. Beilschmidt? I was under the impression he was a child psychiatrist..."

He felt his cheeks begin to colour. What exactly had he said to Gilbert? They found somewhere new to send him... He could work with that. He could work with that!

"I like to play piano for children who aren't, shall we say, as well off as I am."

It wasn't a complete lie. His parents always claimed that it was good to keep up appearances, and often visited children's hospitals and orphanages, where they'd have him play piano.

Alice's lips twitched slightly. "That's very... gentlemanly of you, Edelstein. I'd never expect you to do something like that."

Roderich's brows furrowed. "Why not?"

She sighed. "You just seem kind of above the rest of us mere mortals. I never really thought you'd involve yourself with anyone below your class. But then again, you do hang out with Elizaveta... That kind of contradicts my theory."

"It does..." Roderich felt his fists clench. Did he really come across so conceited, vain and arrogant that Alice would form this opinion of him?

Whatever. He didn't care. She was just one person.

The bell rang, signalling the end of classes.

Elizaveta was waiting outside for him, leaning against the bulletin board, arms folded across her chest. Her lips were pressed together in annoyance. The source of her annoyance was rubbing the wound he had recently obtained from the frying pan she clenched in her right hand.

"How did you get here so fast?" he asked, bewildered. "Maths is on the other side of the school-"

"What's this I hear about a new psychiatrist?" she replied, cutting of the question she had no intention of answering.

"I found his address scrawled in one of my mother's notebooks. I thought it was just an old number, but then I overheard her and my father talking about him. I don't know anything else-"

"You can't mention me," she cut him off once again.

"I know-"

"And if you do," her eyes narrowed, "I swear to God, you and this pan are gonna get well aquatinted, and I can assure you, it won't be by making pancakes."

Roderich gulped. Elizaveta was a violent person. He'd seen he get in more fights than he could count.

But she'd never threatened him before.

"Why are they sending you to someone again? It's been, what, two years since the last one."

Gilbert looked down at the floor, angrily and bashfully, which, I can assure you, are two expressions that do not go well together.

"It's because of the cuts," he stated, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"The cuts?" Elizaveta's head flew frantically from one boy to the other.

Roderich pushed up his sleeves slightly, exposing thin red lines that almost looked like claw marks.

Elizaveta's green eyes widened. "Oh, Roddy, you aren't-"

"He isn't," mumbled Gilbert. "Those were me."

The concerned, horrified green gleam was tainted by venom. Narrowing, Elizaveta's gaze once again settled on the albino. "You? You've been hurting my Roddy-kins?"

"He's not your Roddy-kins!" Gilbert yelled. "He was mine first!"

"But I've never cut him," Elizaveta said quietly.

Gilbert looked down once again.

"I- I didn't mean to," he finally mustered.

Rolling his sleeves down, Roderich said simply, "And you didn't mean to trap my fingers under that piano lid last year-"

"If I'd've realised it would break your fingers, I wouldn't have done it!" Gilbert brought his red eyes to meet Roderich's violet ones.

Elizaveta growled. "Whatever. We're going to be late for Catering."

Roderich nodded, Gilbert scowled.

"You go ahead Roddy, I want to put my flute away. Tell Miss why I'm late."

Roderich nodded, then hurried in the direction of their classroom.

When Gilbert went to follow him, Elizaveta grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Was it really you who did that?" she asked worriedly.

He nodded. "The awesome me doesn't know my own strength. Priss was being uptight, I yelled at him, he turned to walk away, I awesomely grabbed his arm, 'cuz there was no way in Hell that argument was gonna end 'til I won, and as he tried to pull his arm from my grip..."

He sighed, trailing off.

Elizaveta looked at him sternly. "If I find out you're covering for Roderich- If I find out he's doing this himself..."

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, and so bashed the Prussian on the head for good measure.

…...

"Ve~ So what did you do?"

"I told the fucker straight, didn't I? I said, "Bastard, you can't make a Goddamn decision like that! I live in this fucking house too!", and that bastard just did his stupid little pout thing and wailed, "But Lovi~ Francis has no place to go-", so I told him the fucker wasn't staying with us, and then, AND THEN, the pervert just did his fucking perverted laugh and said, "Ah, Toni, I can see I am not welcome here, I'll just go stay with Feli", and I told him like fuck he would come stay with you and the potato bastard-"

"But why? Big Brother Francis is always welcome here-"

"Why the fuck do you call him that? He's not your brother, he's a pervert."

"Fratello-"

"Whatever. I was talking. So I said "Fuck no you're not staying with Feli, I'll go stay with Feli, you and the tomato bastard can enjoy your fucking gang rape, or whatever the fuck it is you get up to when I'm not here," and then I left, and Antonio cried, and I'm gonna need to stay with you until fuck-face gets the hell out of my house."

"Ve~ You're welcome to Lovi! So have you and 'Tonio broken up again?"

Ah. That was exactly what Ludwig wanted to walk into. He shut his front door as quietly as possible, hung his coat up on it's hook, then hung Felicia's up, due to the fact it was lying on the floor, along with her scarf, hat, and discarded pair of black heeled shoes that Ludwig knew she hated wearing.

He didn't want to interrupt the heartfelt conversation going on between the siblings, but he knew he had to at some point.

He made his way from his hall to his living room, which he noticed Felicia had attempted to tidy. Through the open door, he could see the two Italians, and smell the coffee they were drinking, although, to be honest, both of them would have preferred wine.

His movement catching her eye, Felicia turned to her husband and squealed, "LUDDY!" before flinging herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and jumping up to kiss him. "Ve~" she cried cheerfully, "you're home early!"

He nodded. "I have to go back at ten-"

"We're having pasta for tea, is that alright?"

"Ja, it's fine, but Felicia-"

"I haven't started it yet though, because it's barely past lunchtime, and Lovi's been round, and he's fallen out with Antonio, so he needs to stay with us for a while. That's okay isn't it? I told him it was okay. Please don't be mad! I'll kick him out if you want me to. Ve~ That'd be mean, I don't wanna do that to fratello. Please don't make me kick him out! I-"

"Felicia," Ludwig held his wife by her shaking shoulders, "Lovino can stay with us, you don't need to panic."

"I hope you're not expecting a fucking thank you, bastard, because you won't be getting one."

Ludwig looked up from Felicia's large brown eyes, eyes that welled with tears at the thought of evicting her brother, and met the amber pair that were all too similar, except for the fact they were narrowed with hatred as opposed to wide with fear and concern.

Lovino, his brother-in-law, stood in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, watching him. He took a bite out of the tomato he had summoned from seemingly nowhere, and continued to glare.

Ludwig was once again struck by how alike the twins looked. But then, he supposed that's what twins did, looked alike.

They weren't identical; the two had differences, the main one being that Felicia was a girl. Her hair, which she always tied back, was a pale reddish-brown, whilst Lovino's was a darker mix of the two colours. However, it still featured that same uncontrollable curl.

Ah, Ludwig remembered what that curl was capable of. And he remembered it well.

Anyway, perverted German moment aside, Ludwig returned Lovino's glare. Plenty of insults flew through his mind, but he decided against saying anything.

Oh, but the Italian looked so smug, and Ludwig had spent his entire day in the company of children. What was to stop him from acting a little childishly for once?

He didn't think he'd ever acted childishly, not even as a child.

Pretending he hadn't heard any of the conversation he'd arrived home to, Ludwig asked innocently, "Why do you need to stay here? Did Antonio finally have enough of you and trade you for that Frenchman?"

Lovino's glare intensified. His only reply was the original, creative response of, "Bastard."

Felicia giggled, overjoyed that the two were communicating without yelling; she seemed to fail to notice that the two were still being unkind towards each other.

Ludwig shrugged. Felicia snuggled closer to him, mumbling sweet little Italian nothings. Lovino turned his back on the pair.

"So tell me about your day!" Felicia skipped across the room to the sofa that she would later let Lovino sleep on, holding tightly to Ludwig's hand, causing him to follow her.

He smiled. It was something he did very rarely, but he was just overcome by how cute the woman was. Granted, the two had been married almost a year, and had dated two years before that, but every now and again he would realise how cute the Italian really was, and fall in love with her all over again.

He kept this to himself, of course. He was hardly the type to tell Felicia he thought she was adorable. And when he did, he did it quietly and awkwardly.

Yet she'd always thank him and kiss him lightly.

Not like her brother, who was frequently called cute by his boyfriend/ex-boyfriend/Antonio, and responded violently.

"My day was good," he sighed, sinking into the sofa next to Felicia. "Had an interview with two new clients."

"You did? Is that why you're going back at ten?"

"Ja. How was your day?"

Felicia began to babble about the children in her class, and how they were all progressing, but after a while, Ludwig stopped listening to her, and just listened to her voice.

It was such a cute voice.

"Francis' rent fell through again," she said, oddly serious.

"Oh?" Her husband had been in the process of falling asleep. "That why he's staying with Antonio?"

She nodded. "Ve~ Michelle's refusing to let her back in her flat after what happened last time."

"That must be awkward, seeing as they're meant to be dating."

"I know! I'm so glad I have you Luddy!" Felicia snuggled into him, and he wrapped an arm around her. "I love you so much!"

Can you even begin to imagine how cute this entire scenario must be? Cutest mental image ever, right? Even baby bunny rabbits being snuggled by toddlers in tomato outfits isn't as cute as that. But that is cute. Very cute.

"Und I-"

His sentence was drowned out by Lovino making retching noises.

Felicia pouted. "Loviii~" she whined,"that wasn't very nice!"

Shrugging, he replied, "You acting all couple-ey and shit with that potato-fucking bastard made me feel sick."

His sister began to smile devilishly. "I bet you and 'Tonio have done much worse than say that you love each other."

Lovino's eyes went wide and he began to blush heavily whilst spluttering an incomprehensible garble of letters.

Well, that's what he gets for ruining the cuteness.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he finally choked out.

Giggling slightly, his sister replied, "Exactly what it sounded like."

Lovino's eyes narrowed. He glared angrily at Ludwig, his fists clenched, muttering something about how the potato-fucker had perverted his innocent little sister.

Ludwig smiled to himself. Lovino had no idea, absolutely no idea.

Because yeah, Ludwig was kind of a sadist. But he was only slightly sadistic. He just kind of liked whips. And chains. And the stash of hardcore porn he'd had since he was a teenager...

Ahem, I think we should all ignore that last paragraph. Ludwig Beilschmidt was an honest, hard-working child psychiatrist. He was slightly short-tempered, but also a good drinker- I mean, a good listener. He was a good friend to the few people he was friends with, and he was a good husband to his Felicia.

He most certainly would not approve with the intimate workings of his private life being spewed all over the Internet by some annoying teenager.

And, in all honesty, he wasn't that much of a sadist. And he most definitely did not abuse Felicia, God no! He loved the adorable little ball of Italian-ness. How dare you ever think such a thing? He's not like the hardcore sadist in the play they're forcing us to study in English; he doesn't-

One cannot really describe what this sadist does to his wife in said play. But it is sadistic. And sickening. And the complete opposite of how Ludwig treated his wife.

Oh, it appears we have digressed from the initial story once again.

Eventually, Felicia went to start cooking the pasta she was going to serve for dinner, leaving Ludwig and Lovino to stare at each other awkwardly whilst drowning in how awkward the whole thing was.

"So," Ludwig said slowly, "how's your job working for you?"

"Fine," Lovino replied quickly, glaring.

Ludwig gulped, trying to remember what Lovino actually did.

"Um," he started again, "what exactly do you do?"

The Italian narrowed his angry little eyes. "I'm a teacher, not that it's any of your fucking concern."

Teacher... Ludwig wouldn't trust Lovino with his children's education.

"What do you teach?"

"Why the fuck do you care?"

The German sighed. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Lovino, we may not like each other, but Felicia likes us both-"

"Don't you fucking dare bring her into this discussion, bastard! This has nothing to do with sorella!"

"Can we just make conversation for once? For her sake?"

Lovino folded his arms, muttered angrily, and fell backwards into his seat.

"Spanish," he grumbled. "I teach Spanish at that secondary two towns away."

Ludwig nodded. "I used to want to be a PE teacher-"

"Yeah, well I used to care!" yelled Lovino, rising from his seat and removing himself from the room due to the temptation to kill Ludwig/himself if he stayed in the same area as the potato fucker for another two seconds being awfully high.

"Ve~ Lovi! Have you come to help me cook dinner?"

Ludwig groaned; if Lovino was going to cook, there'd probably be poison in his pasta.

...

Ivory skin that contrasted very well with his dark hair and pale violet eyes hidden behind glasses. Like his mother, his hair featured a kink. He was dressed simply in his school uniform; a navy jumper, blazer, striped tie, white shirt, black trousers. Face expressionless, eyes staring straight ahead.

Ludwig hadn't really spoken to that many seventeen-year-olds since he himself was seventeen, but he was sure they weren't like this.

He blinked slowly, before asking, "Doctor Beilschmidt, these are confidential sessions, aren't they?"

Ludwig nodded. The boy turned his head to look at his parents, who had seats either side of him. "Then I request they leave."

"What?" cried Johann.

"I'm afraid, Herr Edelstein, if your son does not want you here, you cannot be here."

"But I'm the client! I'm paying for this!"

"Your son is the patient!" Ludwig yelled. "His desires come before your own!"

Elyse rose from her seat. "Then we shall leave you to it, Doctor."

The door shut quietly behind her. When Johann exited, it banged against it's doorframe.

Ludwig attempt to smile reassuringly at the boy, who was fidgeting in his seat now his parents weren't there to scold him.

"What year are you in now, Roderich?"

"Hmm?" Those violet eyes snapped back up to meet Ludwig's gaze. "I beg your pardon?"

"What year are you in? At school?"

"Oh," Roderich played with a lose thread on the jumper he'd had to borrow from Elizaveta because a certain Prussian had decided it would be a fun idea to attempt to bake it into a pie during Catering, "Year Twelve."

"So that would make you in sixth-form?" At Roderich's nod, Ludwig continued, "How did you do in your GCSE's?"

"Straight A's. Except for the three A*'s, of course."

Model student, it appeared. Ludwig wondered why someone who claimed to be this smart could have an imaginary friend at the age of seventeen. "And what are you studying now?"

"Catering, Advanced Music Theory, Music, German."

The Doctor couldn't help but chuckle. "German? Aren't you at quite an advantage, what with your background?"

The boy stared at his feet. "It doesn't matter if I speak the language fluently. Speaking fluent German isn't going to get me into Music School; an extra A Level will," he said quietly.

"Any friends, Roderich?"

"A few, yes."

"A girlfriend? Or perhaps a boyfriend?"

His cheeks flushed. "No, and I've never had either."

"Can I see the cuts please Roderich?"

He hesitated, still looking intently at the floor. Without moving his gaze, he shrugged himself out of his blazer, then pushed his jumper sleeves up.

"Would you like to tell me how they happened?"

"We were fighting," his voice was barely a whisper. "He grabbed my arm-"

"Who were you fighting with?"

Roderich brought his gaze up to meet Ludwig's, and said confidently, "Gilbert."

The name stung the German momentarily. "Gilbert's the one you're here to see me about, isn't he?"

Roderich nodded. "I know what it looks like, Doctor, but I can assure you he's not imaginary."

"Is he here with us now?"

"No."

"No?" Ludwig was slightly take aback. Imaginary friends went the majority of places with their owners. "Then where is he?"

"He's with E- He's with a friend."

"A friend?" Ludwig's eyebrow rose. "Why in Earth is he with a friend?"

"Watching people attempt to convince me he isn't real isn't really the best thing for his self esteem," Roderich smiled slightly. "He never comes with me to these."

"This friend of yours, they let Gilbert stay with them?"

"She can see him too, Doctor."

"Oh, can she?"

He was met with a nod. He picked up a pen.

"Her name?"

"I can't tell you."

"Oh."

Ludwig looked at Roderich, unsure what to make of him. "Edelstein, I'll see you next Thursday at ten past four. See that you bring Gilbert and the girl who can see him. And give this to your parents."

He ripped a sheet of paper from his notebook. He then ripped out another piece, and scribbled something down on it.

"This," he folded it over, "is for you. It's my personal number. If you ever need to contact me, give this a ring."

Roderich looked at it. "There are two numbers here."

"My home number, for if my mobile's ever off. Now I must bid you good night, Master Edelstein. Until next week."

* * *

><p>Extended an:

Once again, thanks. Keeping an eye on the time because I have to leave to babysit fifteen minutes.

Sorry of this chapter disappoints anyone. I tried my best, but had an attack of un-creativity halfway through it. I also couldn't work out how to end it, hence the awful ending.

In case you're wondering, Austria doesn't have OCD, he's jut a perfectionist, and we caught him on a bad day.

Hope you enjoyed. I'm off to babysit and start work on the next chapter.

Oh, and if you want to review, please do. I want to reply to them, but am doing this on my iPod/phone/whatever, and so find it difficult


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so I am locked out of fanfiction on my dad's computer, which means, until either my laptop is fixed or my sister grows a heart and let's me use her laptop, which she sometimes does, I'm not going to lie, I'll be uploading from this phone. Which doesn't please me.

I haven't updated this story in about two months, and I'm sorry, I just got carried away with Insert Witty Title Here, and then Arianna in Wonderland, and then my Titanic oneshot, and this kinda sat, half finished in my Notes pages. That's why the ending might seem a little rushed. I was all, damn, I have a half finished chapter here, and a story I need to update.

Sorry if anyone seems OOC, I apologise. Also, don't expect a quick update, due to my lack of laptop, the fact I have two requests to write, and two oneshots I want to write, as well as having a shitload of coursework, and a recent family bereavement.

Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint too much! I'll try to get the next one up before June!

(ps, if any of you readers happen to be British, the Region Two release of Paint It, White! is around June 18th!)

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

She stared nervously at the device in her hand, as well as the crumpled piece of paper atop it.

"Roddy," she gulped, "I don't want to do this."

"Elizaveta, please," Roderich took her free hand, causing Gilbert's eyes to narrow with jealousy, "do this for me."

...

Mr and Mrs Beilschmidt lived in an average house with a total of six rooms (seven if you included the hallway). Seeing as she didn't work every day, Felicia made Tuesdays the day she cleaned the entire house. Not that she was the greatest at cleaning in the world. But she found that, if she tried really hard, and motivated herself with the thought of pasta, she could do it.

Today, she picked up her age-old foe, Signore Henry, the Hoover, and told him sternly that he was going to help her tidy the house.

She started with the downstairs hallway. She hung all the coats up neatly, arranged the shoes in their pairs, then lined them up against the wall. She moved swiftly on to the living room, where she picked up everything that was lying around on the floor and the sofas and the shelves, and dumped it in a pile on the coffee table. She then Hoovered, and set about sorting through the pile of stuff, trying to work out where it was all meant to go.

And then the phone rang.

Their phone was old-fashioned. It was black, and connected to it's base by a cord. The buttons were stiff, and played up. One could never be sure they had dialled the right number until the receiver picked up, for there was no screen displaying the digits.

Felicia turned to her phone, unsure as to who would be ringing, and answered brightly, "Ciao?"

She heard muffled words on the other end, before a very timid, feminine voice replied, "Hello, I'm looking for a Doctor Ludwig Beilschmidt, is he there?"

"Ve~ no, Luddy's with a patient at the moment," Felicia felt her heart grow heavy.

It was a woman.

A woman was phoning to speak to Ludwig.

Women never wanted to speak to Ludwig.

"May I ask who's calling?" she asked, her voice still light. "I'll let him know you rang, unless you want me to take a message?"

"No, no, it's fine. Please don't trouble yourself. I'd rather talk to him myself. Can you give me a decent time to call back?"

Felicia knew her Ludwig wasn't the kind to ever even think about cheating on her. She didn't care what her brother said, she knew he would never do anything to hurt her.

Of course, she'd heard the rumour about that night last December, but that didn't mean she believed it. Ludwig would never, like ever, do something like that with another. She was his one and only.

But there was just something about the way this woman spoke; she was hiding a secret, Felicia knew it.

Felicia wasn't her brother. She wasn't the jealous type, and she did not judge people she had never met.

She had no idea what possessed her to reply back in a tone laced with anger, "Can you give me your name and relation to my husband please?"

There was more muffling.

"I-"

"MISS HÉRDEVÁRY!" cried a distant sounding voice. Whoever had phoned was now being shouted at. The yells sounded slightly familiar to Felicia, but she couldn't quite place the speaker. "HOW MANY-"

The line went dead.

"Shit!" muttered Elizaveta, jumping at the shouts of that stupid teacher, and dropping the phone.

"How many times," he continued, "must you be reminded of the school policy concerning mobile phones?"

The three turned to face the teacher. Elizaveta protested that she hadn't had her phone out, he was imagining it.

He held out his hand, and she begrudgingly placed the phone inside it.

"Be grateful," he said, "that it was me, instead of Mr Braginski who caught you. That bastard would have probably crushed your phone with his bare hands, here and now."

Elizaveta giggled slightly at the criticism of Mr Braginski, for there was no love lost between her and the Russian who had managed to convert Social Studies to Communist Class.

Gilbert clenched his fist, because he hated the Russian with a passion; for some reason, the unawesome bastard had always stared directly at him, even though he couldn't see him. And he really didn't like the way he had stared.

Roderich simply said, "Mr Vargas, are you sure you should be swearing, and speaking about other members of the faculty in such a way?"

The teacher narrowed his gaze. "Mr Edelstein, I suggest you remove that stick you have wedged up your ass before someone removes the fucking thing for you. Hérdeváry, you can have your Goddamn phone back at the end of the day; I'll be in my room."

And he turned on his heel and stormed off.

You see, my dear readers, Catering is the subject that Gilbert likes to muck around the most in. He causes trouble, and poor Roddy-kins gets the blame.

Normally, this is fine, because their teacher is previously mentioned Russian teacher's half-sister, Miss Braginskaya. But earlier in the year, she had a terrible accident, involving a flight of stairs and the President/founding member/only member of said Russian teacher's fan club. And while she was away, her class was taken over by the delightful Mr Vargas, who decided he hated them all, but yelled at Roderich the most (probably because he's from Austria, and, to an angry, slightly racist Italian with a German brother-in-law he happened to abhor, Austria and Germany are all too similar).

Even though he no longer taught him, Mr Vargas still liked to victimise poor little Roderich.

But, to be fair, he does have a bit of a point about that stick.

Anyway, Elizaveta turned to Gilbert and hit him.

"This is all your fault!" she hissed.

"MY fault? How the hell is any of this unawesome shit MY fault?" the Prussian wailed, rubbing his head.

"If you weren't so fucking weird and everyone else in the world could see you, none of this would have ever happened!"

Gilbert folded his arms. "You," he began awesomely, "have no proof."

Roderich rolled his eyes at the pair's antics. He hated the way the two of them bickered like an old married couple. He mainly hated it because of the very real possibility that the two could one day end up an old married couple, and he couldn't stand that thought.

You see, Roderich had never been in a relationship, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted one.

He wasn't entirely sure of his sexuality either, because, strictly speaking, he'd never really been attracted to anyone.

At least, he told himself he'd never been attracted to anyone. But, in all honesty, it was rather hard not to be captivated by the beauty of one who had hair made from moonlight and eyes that looked more like rubies than any false gem Roderich had ever seen did.

But that didn't mean Roderich was gay, and it certainly didn't mean he felt anything other than annoyance towards the Prussian only he and Elizaveta could see.

Hmm, that was an idea. Elizaveta's gaydar was remarkably apt, maybe she could shed some light on the whole "sexual preference" thing.

The down side that followed this was Elizaveta would probably then attempt to set him up with any and everyone else, in the hope that they hit it off, and she got to watch them, well, do what people who hit it off did.

To put it in the most vulgar of terms, Elizaveta would stand there, nosebleeding excessively whilst watching as Roderich and whomever she had set him up with fucked the living daylights out of each other.

Which is really quite perverted.

Honestly, you'd think Elizaveta was French, opposed to Hungarian.

Not that there's anything wrong with the French, of course, unless you happen to be British, or, more specifically, English, in which case you're born hating them. I suppose it's merely because they know how to hold a grudge. A hundred years of war and all that jazz, hatred of the French runs deep within their heritage.

But Roderich was not English, rendering the last paragraph completely useless and irrelevant.

He turned to Elizaveta and said, "You'll have to try phoning him again."

She stared at him, flicking a strand of her dark brown hair absent-mindedly over her shoulder as she did. "What if he doesn't believe me?"

Roderich placed a hand on her shoulder. "He will, Elizaveta. He has to."

...

Felicia stared at the phone hanging slack in her hand.

It had gone dead.

Someone had yelled at the woman, and then the phone had gone dead.

She couldn't help but think how familiar that yell had been. Dammit all, why couldn't she put a name to that voice?

She placed the phone down carefully, then sat down in the chair beside it.

Why was she such an idiot?

The woman had had a very pretty voice. If her face was anywhere near as pretty as her voice, she could understand why-

She recoiled as if she'd been hit. Why was she thinking like that? What was wrong with her?

Relationships were about trust, and she trusted Ludwig with her life.

Why was she doubting him?

There were only three things in her life that had ever been constant.

She'd lost her mother at a young age, her father not long after, and her grandpa a few years later, but she'd always had Lovino.

She'd been taken away from her Italy, from her friends, from her home, but, though the landscape had changed, her passion for painting it had never been extinguished.

She'd had friends, but they all soon tired of her idiocy, and moved on to smarter people. They could never put up with her clumsiness, and her absent-minded behaviour. One by one, her friends had grown bored of her; all of them but Ludwig. Ludwig, who had kindly asked her out, and then spent a good deal of time slowly moving their relationship forward.

She could not, and would not doubt him now.

She dialled his number, only to find his phone off.

His phone was never off, and it was always fully charged.

Biting her lip, she dialled the only other number she had memorised, and prayed that it was Lovino's lunch break.

...

The remaining hour and a half she had to spend in school without her mobile phone bored Elizaveta greatly.

This was partly because her last lesson was Photography.

Not that Elizaveta didn't enjoy Photography; quite the contrary, she loved it, and was rather good at it.

However, it did have the down side of being a subject that neither Roderich nor Feliks took, and those two happened to be her closest friends.

Normally, she didn't mind that though, because she worked with a timid, polite Japanese girl named Sakura, whom she happened to owe her life to, due to the fact she had introduced the Hungarian to yaoi. But Sakura had been off for the past three days with tonsillitis, leaving Elizaveta on her own.

And she was bored.

Without Sakura, she had no one to talk to, and was left only with the option of actually doing the work.

It was times like these that the fact Gilbert preferred to spend his existence in Roderich's company pissed her off.

Usually she didn't care; she had a wealth of other friends, and Roderich had few, due to his uptight personality. She felt it was only fair for Roderich's oldest-and for a long time only- friend to want to spend time with him, as opposed to her. But when the three of them weren't together, Elizaveta worried that Gilbert would tell Roderich... Things.

This worry kept to the back of her mind when she was surrounded by people, but alone it was all she could think, a nagging pain at the front of her thoughts.

Because there was a reason she could see Gilbert, and the two of them knew it, though they'd sworn to keep it from Roderich.

Neither of them understood why Roderich could see Gilbert, and, if the truth was told, Elizaveta was slightly sceptical of Gilbert's existence. She had this theory that she had convinced her broken mind that he was real because Roderich had told her he was.

Of course, that wasn't true. Her mind may be slightly unstable, but her memories were still in pristine condition, she was sure of it. And she was sure she remembered meeting the fire-eyed albino before his Austrian companion.

Elizaveta wondered what Roderich would think, if he knew why she saw his 'imaginary' friend. Perhaps he would view her the way his parents did; like she was nothing more than vermin, to be ignored. Maybe he'd go so far as to think she was an abomination. That wouldn't surprise her.

She hated lying to him, but it was to protect that which she loved more than anything else. That made it all worth it.

Didn't it?

Elizaveta bit her lip in concentration and tried to look like she was actually doing the work, until the bell signalling the end of class rang, and she practically ran to the Languages corridor to retrieve her phone.

The Mr Vargas who greeted her looked even angrier than the one who had confiscated her phone.

As he rooted through his draw to get it for her, she could hear him darkly muttering unsavoury things about his brother-in-law, and Elizaveta found herself remarkably pleased that she hadn't married in to that family.

She usually met with Roderich to walk a home; that is, they would walk until one of Roderich's family's drivers turned up and drove him the rest of the way home, leaving her with Gilbert, but today she decided it wasn't worth the effort of meeting him.

She looked at the phone in her hand, nervous, but she knew she had to do this.

She was a smart girl; if any of those types of questions arose, she could lie through her teeth. Or maybe she could tell him she felt uncomfortable answering them. Better yet, she'd tell him to mind his own business.

She scrolled through her previous calls, and pressed redial. The dialling tone that followed lasted an eternity, every bleep causing her to flinch in pair.

The voice that greeted her wasn't what she was expecting. It was neither gruff nor low nor German, but an accent that she recognised all too well as Japanese.

"You have reached the office of Ludwig Beilschmidt," the voice said, "may I ask who is calling?"

Her voice caught in her throat. "I- I'm a friend of a patient of Doctor Beilshcmidt. I'd rather go anonymous, if that's all right?"

A few students looked at her curiously as she made her way through the meandering corridors. She told herself to get it together. It was not like Elizaveta Hérdeváry to be scared.

"Can I ask which patient you are calling on behalf of?"

"Roderich Edelstein," she replied without hesitation.

"I'll put you through to Doctor Beilschmidt as soon as I can, if you don't mind waiting shortly?"

"I'll wait, that's fine," she knew she wouldn't have the courage to pick up the phone if the Doctor rang her. Especially at home. Her parents would not be best pleased.

She was put on hold. Some strange, emotionless music was played, and she waited for it to stop.

The tune was bland, lifeless. It was nothing like the music she was so used to hearing Roderich play, but it was cut off with a greeting in a language Roderich often spoke.

"Hallo," came the voice she had been expecting earlier, low and accented, slightly strained, as though it was painting the speaker to attempt to speak lightly. "This is Doctor Beilschmidt. I've been told you are a friend of Master Edelstein's."

"Yes," she spoke through the fear that clogged up her throat. "I've known him for years."

She heard a sigh come across the line. "Und why exactly are you calling?"

"Because Roddy's-," she cleared her throat, and began again. "Because Master Edelstein's imagery friend is real."

There was a pause. "I see. So you are the friend he mentioned? The one who can see-"

"Yes," Elizaveta cut him off sharply, peeping over a fence, and finally off of school grounds. "I can."

"In that case you wouldn't minds answering a few questions, would you?"

"Not at all," she walked down the pathway with purpose, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, unsure who she was looking for, "as long as you ask them now. I have no desire to speak to you face to face, just as I have no desire to give you my name."

Another sigh. "I had hoped you- Nevermind, Miss. Could you possibly describe-"

"Ack!" Elizaveta lost the rest of the Doctor's sentence was to her shriek.

"What the fuck, Elizaveta?" screeched an angry albino. "Me and my awesomeness, as well as Priss, waited for like, ten minutes for you, bitch! And you never showed up!"

"I'm on the phone," she said through gritted teeth.

"To who?" Gilbert stood in front of her, hands on hips, eyes seething with annoyance, blocking her way.

"Roddy's psychiatrist," she sneered at him. Gilbert's scowl faltered slightly with guilt, and the knowledge he was the reason Roderich was, yet again, speaking to someone with regards to his mental health.

"I'm sorry Doctor," Elizaveta tried to keep her voice airy and light as she pushed past Gilbert, "could you repeat the question."

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Ludwig sighed. "Just describe," he rummaged through his notes until he found what he was after, "Gilbert, to me."

"Well," there came a slight pause, and Ludwig could have sworn he heard a German accent whisper angrily in the background, "he wants me to tell you he's awesome, but he's actually an arrogant little fuck who can't mind his own business and stop listening in on other people's conversations."

Ludwig heard the girl remove the phone from her ear, and place a hand over it. There were muffled shouts, and he played with his pen anxiously.

Because, once upon a time, he had known a Gilbert who described himself as awesome.

"What does he look like?" Ludwig called. When there was no response, he called it again. "Fräulein, please, what does he look like?"

"He's albino," came her reply. It was slow, like she was carefully considering her words. "You know, with red eyes and silver hair? His skin is really pale, and, along with claiming to be more awesome than anyone else alive, he's also declared himself the last surviving Prussian-"

Ludwig felt the phone in his hand go slack.

He wasn't an emotional man, and had little to no idea how to cope with whatever emotion he was now feeling, be it shock, outrage, confusion.

Because he didn't understand how someone who had never met him, due to the fact he had died before they were born, was able to describe his brother perfectly, down to the fact he was always yelling about being Prussian.

For a moment, he found himself convinced it was some cruel, elaborate trick someone was playing on him.

And then he heard the shrieking from the phone.

"Gilbert!" came the harsh scream of the girl he'd been talking to, "let go of the phone, for fuck's sake!"

Ludwig picked up the phone, a heart full of dread, planning on telling the girl that she'd been most useful, but he still wanted Roderich to attend his sessions, when he heard the impossible.

"Fuck off, Lizzie! I wanna tell this bastard how unawesome he is!"

"Too bad he won't be able to hear you, freak!"

"Get fucked, frying pan bitch!"

Ludwig slammed the phone down.

It hadn't changed at all.

It had been, what, seventeen years? It had been seventeen years since he last heard that voice. Albeit a little deeper, it had changed so slightly...

There was no mistake.

He didn't know how it was possible- Hell, he wasn't even sure he believed any of this was happening- but somehow, Roderich Edelstein's imaginary friend was his late brother, Gilbert Beilschmidt.

And whoever this girl was, she could also see and hear him.

And Ludwig could hear him too.


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's Note: **

Apologies for the late upload, but I said to expect something in June. Last time I checked, it's still June.

Normal warnings apply; Swearing, OOC-ness, crappy plotline, poor spelling and grammar

Don't own Hetalia. Longer a/n at the bottom. Read until the end to learn some very important stuff about this story. And all my others. Please.

Oh, and just a little heads up, this chapter features my favourite micronation, Kugelmugel. For those of you who are unaware of whom Kugelmugel is, just assume he is the Austrian version of Sealand. (Google Kugelmugel when this chapter's up, or on another tab, like, now. Then try and say "Have you ever Googled Kugelmugel?" five times fast). I use Edwin as his AU name, because I believe the guy who built Kugelmugel was named Edwin, and he's Austria's art-obsessed little brother, although his relation to Austria is never stated in the webcomic. I just assume all micronations are siblings of the nations they're from, like Sealand.

* * *

><p>Elizaveta stared up at Roderich's ceiling with such wonder, admiration and devotion that one would have thought God himself was using it to communicate with her. She was lying upon his bed in a most undignified manner possible, with one leg bent and the sole of her muddy trainer on Roderich's duvet, and the other leg hanging off of the bed completely, an untied, once white shoelace, now turned brown from dirt, trailing along his floor. She lay on her back, occasionally snapping pictures of the ceiling that captivated her so with the camera she held loosely in one hand. Every time she did, the camera would make a clicking noise which irritated the Austrian, who was sat at his desk, his long, slender fingers drumming his desk at a set tempo as he attempted to make sense of the information the Hungarian had just presented him with.<p>

"He hung up?" Roderich repeated. "Why would he hang up?"

"I don't know," Elizaveta's reply was doused in irritation, and she snapped another lazy picture of the ceiling. "He asked for a description of Gil, then Gil started yelling at me, and then he hung up. Now Roddy, can we go? I didn't come here to-"

"It just doesn't make any sense," mumbled Roderich. "He told me that he wanted to speak with you, yet when you do speak, he hangs up." He bit his lip in confusion, pondering why the Doctor had done such a thing. "It's completely contradictory of his desires."

Elizaveta sighed, pulled her leg up from the floor and rolled onto her stomach. Resting on her elbows and knees, the lower parts of her legs bent at perfect right angles, she stared now at her camera, clicking buttons and scrolling through the pictures she had just taken of the ceiling. "Do we have to talk about this Roderich?" she asked, thoroughly and obviously bored. "I only stopped by because I need-"

"Veta, can't you see how important this is to me?" Roderich spoke angrily, his tone laced with venom.

"Roddy, you know I love you and everything," Elizaveta looked up from her camera's screen and met Roderich's gaze, "but can we talk about something that isn't you? Just for a little while?"

The remark shocked Roderich. Elizaveta didn't usually say things like that to him. His shock was only added to when she resumed her examination of her photos and muttered something like, "You want to watch out, or your ego might end up the same size as Gilbert's."

"I-" Roderich didn't know what to say. He was usually impeccably good at coming up with insults and retorts in a gentlemanly manner, but he found himself rendered speechless by the accusation that he was anywhere near as self-absorbed as the invisible albino who was, at present, tormenting Roderich's younger brother, and delighting in the fact Edwin couldn't see him and his "awesomeness", as it made terrifying him all the more enjoyable and easy. "Eliza, I-"

"Sorry," she mumbled. "That was uncalled for. I'm just so bored!" With another sigh, she rolled onto her back once more, and stared at the ceiling, her limbs spread out like a starfish's. "If Gilbert were here, I'd insult him, but he's not, so it looks like I'm going to need to be a bitch to you. Speaking of bitches, did I tell you what Natalia Alfroskaya said to Feliks yesterday? Honest, you won't believe it, she-"

And Elizaveta was lost to gossip. She began to speak faster, and at a higher pitch. It was Roderich's turn to now grow impatient and bored.

"-So I said to her, "Look, just because Toris can't realise he's irreversibly in love with Feliks doesn't mean you're allowed to pretend that you return the feelings he thinks he feels for you," and she was all, "How d'you know I'm pretending?" and I told her that everyone knows the only man she'll ever spread her legs for is Mr Braginski, and then she-"

"Why are you here again, Elizaveta?" Roderich cut her off, finding himself immensely relieved to have been born a boy, and therefore not obligated to get involved in the politics of the female world. Not that Elizaveta had always been inclined to do so; when Roderich had first met her, the Hungarian had been more masculine than he had. Gilbert still claimed that Elizaveta had more balls than he did.

"I've got to go to the woods, take some pictures for my coursework," she replied, her face full of distaste though her words were light. She was clearly far more irritated about being interrupted than she cared to let on. "Wondered if you wanted to come with me, since Sakura's off ill and all."

Roderich felt himself smile. "That sounds nice, a walk in the woods. I'd like that."

Almost as if she could sense his smile, Elizaveta turned her head to face him, beaming. Her eyes gleamed, and she said, in what was almost a whisper, "We could leave Gilbert here, if he's distracted by your brother."

Realisation washed over him. If he went out without Gilbert-If Gilbert wasn't there… It would be almost as if he were normal. His lips curled into an even more defined smile as he realised that this could be his first real taste of normality. He nodded, rose from his seat, and opened his wardrobe. Grabbing a coat and a pair of shoes, he said, "We'll need to tell Edwin's art tutor we're going out."

Edwin Edelstein was Roderich's younger brother, though he was more often than not mistaken for his younger sister. It was almost the complete opposite of Roderich's best-friend-turned-arch-rival Vash Zwingli's relationship with his younger sister, who, at about nine, absolutely adored Vash, and had cut off her long blonde plaits in order to mimic Vash's hair- something that had displeased her mother greatly. Whilst Lili now resembled a young boy, Edwin, two years younger than her, refused to get his hair cut. He was usually a quiet boy, yet whenever a haircut was mentioned, he screamed. He screamed blue murder. Even as a toddler, when it had been time for his first haircut, and he had been far too young to understand, he had screamed louder than ever before. Consequently, his hair, which was so fair and blonde one could mistake it for white, was worn in two long, even plaits, and tied off at the bottom with purple ribbon.

At seven, Edwin was an unnaturally gifted artist, just as Roderich had been a musician- not that his parents had noticed, they'd been far too preoccupied with his imaginary friend. He was determined to become a great artist, to be remembered in the same ways da Vinci and Michael Angelo were. He always wore a red beret, everywhere he went, and liked to wear feminine colours, like purple and pale blues, which further contributed to the assumption that Edwin was a girl. Elizaveta had once observed that Edwin looked like a strange combination of Gilbert and Roderich, to which Gilbert had replied that the boy couldn't be, because he wasn't as awesome as him, and wasn't as effeminate as Roderich.

Edwin's art tutor visited about twice a week, sometimes three times, and charged about a sixteenth of what Roderich's old piano tutor had, as well as being several times nicer. Whenever she was in, she became in ultimate authority in the household, though Roderich doubted she knew this. His parents dismissed Edwin's nanny when his art tutor was scheduled to make an appearance, and as his nanny was in charge of the staff, filling in the role of his parents, they all had to answer to the tutor.

Roderich and Elizaveta passed Gilbert on the stairs. When asked what he was doing, Gilbert beamed, and replied, "I'm going to get a sheet and throw it over my awesome head! That way they'll think I'm a ghost, and unawesomely freak out!"

For no apparent reason, Gilbert had recently found it thrilling to attempt to convince Edwin that the house was haunted by performing ghostly acts, like slamming doors and shutting windows. Roderich wasn't entirely sure what Gilbert did, but he had succeeded enough that Edwin was scared to sleep on his own at night.

Elizaveta, who had a soft spot for the adorable little boy who would remain indifferent whenever she dressed him up in her old clothes, much to Roderich's confusion and his nanny's amusement, scowled. "That's not very nice, Gil."

"What's the brat going to do?" Gilbert replied awesomely.

"Maybe I'll teach him the art of fighting with a frying pan," she said, her expression darkening. "I've heard it's the best form of defence against ghosts."

Gilbert dismissed this comment by scowling, and continuing up the stairs. Elizaveta mirrored his frown, and continued downstairs. Roderich heard him mutter something threateningly under his breath in menacing German.

Once downstairs, Roderich gestured for Elizaveta to wait outside whilst he poked his head around the door to the study. It opened with a slight creak, but its inhabitants were too distracted by art to notice.

The study was one of the larger rooms in the house, and one in which Roderich spent had spent an awful lot of time in as a child. Its walls were lined with bookshelves, and the bookshelves full of books, all in varying degrees of thickness, languages, and subjects. Some of the books were ancient, others were brand new. Roderich had never counted how many there were, but as a child he had always assumed there were thousands. There was a fireplace built into the centre of one of the walls, and this was the only wall without any bookshelves. In one corner, a piano was placed, the sheet music his mother had been reading a few nights before still resting open upon it. The piano had been in his family for generations, and Edwin had been one of the first Edelsteins in close to seventy years to express no desire to ever learn to play it. Edwin was sat along that wall too, close to the other corner, where the natural light was at its best. He was sat upon a stool, gazing intently at an easel. He held a palette of paint in one hand, a paintbrush in the other. Sat beside him, his art tutor had left her own easel to help guide his hand.

Roderich cleared his throat. Edwin and his tutor turned to face him. Edwin frowned slightly, but his teacher smiled. She greeted him, and asked if he had come to join them. When he shook his head, she asked if he had decided to play piano. Again, he had answered her silently.

"What is it that you need, Roderich?" she asked, beaming.

"I was just going to tell you, Ms Vargas, that I'm going out for a while," he said.

"Where?"

"To the woods. For a walk."

"Do your parents usually let you go out alone?" Her voice was slightly worried and confused, as if she felt she was about to make a mistake.

"I won't be alone, I'm going with a friend," he explained. "She needs to take some photos for her photography class. And I can be back before my father, if that worries you."

She nodded, and continued to smile. "Be careful," she told him. "And if you find anywhere especially beautiful, let me know. I plan on taking Edwin out for an actual still-life painting session soon."

The boy began to beam as though that was the greatest compliment anyone could ever pay him. Roderich bowed his head in thanks, then dismissed himself. He returned to the hall, where Elizaveta was waiting, wearing an amused smirk.

"What?" Roderich asked, confused, as the Hungarian struggled not to laugh.

"Mrs Vargas?" she asked. "For real?"

"Vargas is her maiden name. I think she's married now, but she still teaches under her- Why are you laughing? I don't understand?"

"I was just wondering," Elizaveta admitted, "if she was related to our favourite teacher."

That had never occurred to Roderich before, but the more he thought on it, the more similar his brother's Art tutor and his old Catering sub began to look. "Well, she's Italian…"

Elizaveta lost it. She began to chuckle. "You realise this means that the man who clearly hates you could know where you live?"

"He's a teacher, Eliza. Of course he knows where I live. Information such as that can be found on your record." He sounded almost disappointed Elizaveta didn't know that.

She stopped laughing almost instantly. "What else is on it?" she asked. "Who has access to it? How-"

"You know, half the time you sound like you're trying to keep some dark secret from me," observed Roderich, bending down to tie up his shoelaces.

Elizaveta snorted. "You have no idea."

"So you are keeping something from me?"

"I never said that." She folded her arms and watched his nimble fingers thread the laces together.

"But it's true, isn't it? There's something you don't want me to know." Roderich couldn't tell if he was coming across playful and mischievous, determined to discover her secret, or dark and threatening, like a blackmailer.

"So what if there is?" She glared at him. "Everyone has secrets Roddy."

Rising, and meeting her emerald gaze, he said quietly, "Some more than others."

He opened the door, and extended his hand, holding the door open for her. She walked through, looking down, almost as though she was ashamed. Roderich hadn't meant to make her feel bad. He'd only been- He didn't know what he had been doing.

The walk to the woods was mainly done in silence. Every time Roderich glanced over to Elizaveta, she was staring the other way, blushing, like she had been watching him and had only just managed to turn her gaze in time to avoid him realising. He wanted to make conversation, but he didn't know what to say.

In the end, conversation was started by Elizaveta, who said, for no apparent reason, "I wish I could play the flute as well as you can."

Her voice had been distant. He blinked a few times, before looking over to her. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm listening to the birds singing, and it reminds me of the time you decided to teach me to play flute." She smiled slightly. "I don't know if you remember that day at all."

Roderich also began to smile. He ran his tongue against his chapped lips, before replying, "Of course I do. It was the first time my parents let you in. Mother was horrified."

Elizaveta laughed. "We locked Gilbert in the bathroom."

"You locked Gilbert in the bathroom, if memory serves," Roderich replied. "How long ago was this? Six, seven years?"

"I think we were eleven," she chewed her lip in concentration. "It was before you started learning the violin."

"In all honesty, I forget there was a time before I could play the violin. It feels so natural to me now. Like breathing."

"I know," her gaze came to meet his. There was a light flush to her cheeks. "You can tell by the way you play."

Roderich began to blush. "Thank you," he said, gratefully, taking it as a compliment. Elizaveta just shook her head, and jumped up onto the stone wall that separated the woods from the pavement. She walked along it, like a trapeze artist, her arms extended, one leg carefully going in front of the other.

"You know, I've practised the piece you played that day every day since," she admitted, nonchalantly. "On your old flute."

His smile faltered as she almost fell off the wall. "I've noticed that you've kept it."

"It's my only flute. Mum says we don't have the money to go around buying me instruments whenever I feel like I need them. "Music isn't going to help me provide for my family," she says. "What kind of mother are you going to be?" she asks," Elizaveta shook her head. "It's like they don't understand me at all."

Roderich could relate to that; he was only what his family wanted him to be, no more, no less. "You'll have to play it for me one day," he said, after some time.

She looked at him in horror for a moment, and almost lost her balance again. When she continued walking, she replied, "Roddy, it's awful. I've been practising for years and it's still awful."

"You should let me be the judge of that," he murmured.

The two fell into silence again, though this time, it was comfortable. After some time, Roderich remarked, "You know, it's nice, not having Gilbert here."

Elizaveta nodded. "I suppose he must be with you all the time. It's got to be annoying."

"It is," he nodded, "but he's not with me all the time. Sometimes he just disappears. I don't know where he goes."

"Sometimes, on special occasions, he stays with me," Elizaveta replied. "But I don't know where he is if he's not with either of us. Oh, did I tell you, last time he was hanging around me, while you were speaking to that Doctor, I swear to God that Romanian bastard on the floor below actually saw Gilbert."

Roderich nodded, but didn't take the words to heart. It wasn't the first time Elizaveta had sworn to God someone else had seen Gilbert.

"You know, I'd miss him, if he wasn't so annoying," Roderich's reply was distant.

Elizaveta smiled at him mischievously, her eyes gleaming, her gaze half lidded. "You'd miss him anyway," she insisted. "That fact that he's so insufferable is one of the things you love about him."

Roderich groaned inwardly. If he didn't know any better, he would've sworn Elizaveta was about to start another one of her infamous matchmaking schemes.

**…**

It is a fact commonly known and accepted that men like to drink. It is also widely acknowledged that different men drink in different contexts and different qualities. Take, for example, the French, who are expected to have a glass of wine with dinner from the age of eight onwards. Or the Russian, who somehow build up and immunity to vodka that is evident by the time they're twenty. However, the country that is perhaps the most famous for its consumption of alcohol has been, for several years, Germany. Germany, who loves beer so much that they have annual festivals celebrating it.

Ludwig Beilschmidt was German, and also a man. However, he was a serious, well-brought up man, and so was able to monitor his alcohol intake rather well. Except when his late brother's friends got a hold of him and dragged him out.

The Carriedos, Bonnefoys and Beilschmidts had been friends for generations. They had a friendship so old that his family thought it might date back to the War of Austrian Succession- all three families had a strong military background. Over time, through wars and battles, the friendship had died down, but had always been rekindled during peacetime.

Ludwig could scarcely remember a summer of his childhood that had not been spent with the other two families. They would alternate; Berlin one year, Paris the next, Madrid the following.

Gilbert, being older than him, had known the families for longer, and happened to be the same age as their younger generation. In his last summer, Gilbert had been eleven, as had Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Francis Bonnefoy had been twelve, and Ludwig had been six. Because of this, all three boys looked down on him in an almost brotherly way, and since Gilbert's death, Antonio and Francis had become the elder brothers Ludwig was ashamed to be related to. However, they did keep him company, and had helped restore some normality to his life after the loss of his brother- despite what the year brought him, every summer was spent in their company.

He had to admit, he did owe a lot to them. When he had decided to leave Germany and study abroad, he had only moved where he had because and met Felicia because it was where Antonio and Francis had decided to go to university, and his uncle had suggested it. The two still treated him as their little brother, and would often take him drinking until he was out of his face, claiming it was what Gilbert would've wanted.

Ludwig had a small circle of friends, and even fewer of them enjoyed drinking, so when Ludwig wasn't out with Antonio and Francis, he drank at home. Sometimes, he took Felicia out, and they drank together, but she really didn't enjoy beer, and would end up drinking ridiculously expensive wine. Ludwig found he couldn't enjoy himself as much when he was worrying about the price of said wine.

He had never dreamt, ever, in his life, that he would storm out of his office at only half-past three, completely neglecting his later patients, and go out drinking. Alone.

And yet, that was what he had done.

He now sat at the bar, staring into his nth empty glass, wondering whether he wanted more, or wanted to go home. He had no idea of the time. He hadn't received a phone call from his wife, so he assumed it wasn't too late.

Ludwig knew what he was doing was wrong, but every time he decided to leave, his brother's voice echoed through his head, distant, like he was yelling to him. He didn't know of he was hearing the Gilbert of his memory, or the Gilbert he had heard on the phone. He didn't care. He just wanted to drink until that voice went away.

His brother had died in horrific circumstances, after undergoing torture and terror no one should ever have to go through, especially one as young as he. Ludwig hadn't known it at the time, but he had grown up, and decided to search out the truth for himself. It was part of the reason he had left Germany- to escape the feeling that the country was haunted by the young albino.

He found it ironic that it was here, where he had come for solitude, refuge, to escape his past, that his past had caught up with him. He kept telling himself it was an elaborate plan that some teenagers thought would be fun to play; the sibling of one of his patients had learnt about Gilbert, and set this up. But he was far too rational to believe that anyone would go to lengths as drastic as that.

There was only one possibility left to him. He was going mad.

He wondered if he should have told Francis, or Antonio. The two had been Gilbert's best friends, despite only actually seeing each other at Christmas and birthdays, as well as every summer. They had written letters, built up a friendship stronger than any Ludwig had had. They deserved to know.

They would probably come to the same conclusion he had; Ludwig Beilschmidt was mad.

He had no idea how long he sat there, or how much he drank, but one second he was being handed a glass, the next it was empty. One second the bar had just opened, the next it was calling for last orders. One second he was inside, warm, drinking, the next he was fumbling with his door key.

He trudged into his house, feeling like so much had changed since he left in the morning, amazed by how little actually had. The door shut with a slam, and he muttered angrilly to himself in German as he failed to lock it.

"Need any help with that?"

He turned, all of a sudden feeling guilty as sin. Even in his drunken state, he recognised the accent immediately. In the dim light, he could tell exactly whom the individuals before him were, and he felt his heart sink as he watched one fold their arms and shake their head disapointedly, whilst the other chewed their bottom lip, contemplating what to say, or do.

"What are you-" he began, his words slurred, but he was cut off by the second man, the one who had not spoken before.

"Naturellement, your wife got worried when you didn't come home," he said simply. "The secutary phoned to say you had suddenly left, he worried something had happened to her."

Ludwig gulped, realising what a mess he had made. "Und where is she now?" he asked.

The first man spoke again, his voice devoid of the cheer it usually possessed. "She decided to go looking for you, took Lovi with her."

"Oui, after crying for about an hour," the second man shook his head. "Such a shame to mess up a beautiful face like hers."

The first man turned to the second, and wailed, "Francis, it was my turn to explain!"

"Mon ami, I'm far too gorgeous not to interrupt your bland, less elegant speech. I thought you would have learnt that by now."

"That doesn't make it nice, Frannie! I was speaking, and you-"

"Whatever 'Tonio. Why don't you continue now?"

Ludwig found himself thinking that he needed another drink, but the two men, the men who were almost his brothers, the men who were bickering like brothers, happened to be blocking the door to the living room, as well as taking up all the space in the hall.

When the shorter of the two, Antonio, finally continued, he explained that Lovino had asked him to wait here in case "that potato fucker comes back". He had also asked Antonio to beat him up, but the Spaniard didn't want to do that. Francis then explained that he had accompained Antonio because Lovino didn't want the Frenchman left alone in his flat- something that made no sense seen as, at the present time, Lovino didn't live there.

In his drunken state, Ludwig seemed to have forgotten his brother-in-law hated him, because his next question was, "Why does he want you to punch me in the face?"

"Something about you sleeping with another woman," replied Francis, nonchalantly, dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand and a flick of his hair.

"Si," Antonio nodded, "she rang the house today. Lemme just say, mi amigo, I never thought you would do anything like this."

"In the words of your brother, not at all awesome," chirped Francis, pulling the Gilbert card, as he had been doing for some fourteen years now.

Ludwig shook his head, voicing his thoughts now. "I need a drink."

"Doncha think you've already had enough?" Antonio asked innocently. Francis elbowed him and muttered something along the lines of never having too much to drink, especially if you were German.

The two men Ludwig had grown up with were completely different. Francis Bonnefoy was tall, blonde and French. He had deep blue eyes, and unbeatable charisma. He somehow managed to get anyone in his bed, at any time, in any place. His skin was pale and fair, his arms slender, his hair long and wavy, stoping at his shoulders. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, on the other hand, was just a tad shorter than Ludwig, with tanned Mediterranean skin, dark, messy hair, and gleaming green eyes, a large, ever-present smile glued to his lips. Whilst Francis clearly took pride in his appearance where ever he went, Antonio could usually be found in the first shirt he found, and had thrown on, regardless of it's size and cleaniness.

Ludwig pushed past them, noticed a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, as well as Felicia's favourite glass, and then stopped dead when he found himself in the kitchen.

His dinner was laid in front of the seat he always sat in. The meal was now cold, the rest of the table cleared away- Francis had probably done that- but his plate was still there. Untouched.

_His mother calls him for dinner, and he comes slowly down the stairs, being_ _careful not to trip and fall, because Gilbert had done that a few months ago, and really hurt his arm. _

_He climbed up onto his seat, no small feat given below average size. He looked over the dinner table, thrilled, excited by the prospect of the wurst his mother had promised she'd be making. _

_He ate, his mother watching worriedly. He could hear his father on the phone to someone in the other room. Gilbert's plate, placed across the table from him, was full of food. _

_Even after Ludwig's plate was empty, Gilbert's was untouched. _

_When Ludwig came down for breakfast the next day, Gilbert's plate was still set upon the table. Untouched. _

Ludwig was overcome. Suddenly sober, he numbly pulled out the nearest chair at the table, rested his heads in his hands, and sobbed. Because, despite what he had heard, or thought he had heard, that afternoon, Gilbert's plate had been untouched.

It would be untouched forever more.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended AN:**

THIS STORY WILL NOW BE REGULARLY UPDATED!

I know I've said I can't commit to timetables, but I have decided that, as part of my campaign to be a better, more reliable author, to update this story once a month. Hopefully, the nineteenth of every month.

This chapter isn't brilliant, it's just a filling chapter really. It was originally going to be a flashback, but I didn't like where it was going. The next chapter will be a flashback though, and might feature some slightly stronger themes, like torture. Nothing at all graphic, though. I hope.

Are you seeing how all the characters are linked together, although they don't know it? That's a key plot point, my darling readers. Remember it. Or maybe it's just me seeing how many of the characters I can shove in. Maybe.

Argh, I do not like how out of character everyone feels. It's worse than Reversal- which reminds me, to those of you who read that (and I'm hoping at least one of you did), this is different, right? It doesn't feel like the same story, but with different characters, does it?

I'm trying to beat Reversal in length and reviews with this, it would mean a lot to me if we could do it; Reversal had nine chapters (and I'm considering adding a tenth, to finish it off, tie up all the loose ends, on the anniversay of it's beginning, 'cuz I'm cool), and about 40 reviews. So if this can get, say twelve chapters, maybe more, because I have no idea where I'm going (I know how it ends, don't know how I'm getting there yet), d'you think you guys can do your part and review?

Oh, and all you PrusAus shippers- and I'm really hoping there's a few of you. Yes, that was a spoiler. Maybe- WATCH THIS SPACE! Some point soon, I'm hoping to upload an impossibly long PrusAus five times/the one time oneshot that I've been writing since April for a friend's birthday. Keep your eyes peeled for that.

For those of you who are reading this to console your broken hopes and dreams after watching England's defeat- and by Italy, of all countries- I commend you. We English should stand united! And remember that we made it as far as France, who lost to Spain.

Still, it's a pity we couldn't get pasta Italians...

If you follow me as an author, I'm going to update my profile after updating this story. You'll find more information on my stories and upcoming stories there.

Well, until the nineteenth, thank you for reading. I'm so glad people have enjoyed what I've writen so far, and hope you've like it enough to stick with it until this chapter!

As an added note, none of you happen to be artistic and want to design a cover for this story, do you? I understand that's a new feature, and I'd quite like to try it out...


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Note: **

I am so proud of myself; not for this chapter, but for the fact that I am uploading it the day I said I would (or at least should be, I'm writing this note the night before so that if anything happens to my laptop I'll still be able to upload this with a note with warnings and stuff from my phone- it let's me upload, and I can copy and paste things from my notes, but I can't edit a document with it) and actually finished it about three or four days before the dealine I set myself. Yay!

I don't think there's any swearing in this chapter. There is, however, some darker themes, such as character death, implied abuse and violence and rape and stuff. There is also me failing to write stuff in other languages. There are only the odd word or two in languages other than English, but I can't promise they're correctness; I haven't done German in three years, and I haven't done French in five or six.

As warned, this chapter is a flashback. OOC-ness ensues, also a really sucky progression of the plotline. Yay! Also, Monaco makes an appearence, which is cool. I've never written Monaco before, so yeah. I just feel that the Principalities deserve more love; especially the micronations.

Thanks for reading; I'm glad you've stuck with this story, and hope you will continue to do so.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

It is surprising how much children know, despite what adults tell them. It is alarming how much they can work out for themselves, merely by sensing the atmosphere. Contrary to popular belief, children are not stupid. They are much more apt than they ever think to let on. Though they may view the world through glass tinted with innocence, they can grasp dark situations, and accept that grim reality that adults intended to deny and hide from them.

Some children are better at this than others, just as some adults can successfully read the mood and act in accordance with it, whilst others feel the need to act in inappropriate manners, and others still don't realise that the way they are acting is inappropriate.

Ludwig Beilschmidt was one such child. His parents didn't have to say that there was anything wrong- and they seemed, rather uncharacteristically to keep what was actually occurring from the six-year-old- he could just tell. He needed no confirmation of his fears and theories, he just knew from the atmosphere and his parent's aura that something was wrong. However, as a practical child, and an even more practical man, he held no belief in auras and whatnot.

But, however he knew, he did. His parents didn't need to tell him, he just knew.

He knew his brother should have been back by then.

However, he couldn't for the life of him work out why his brother wasn't back. He didn't voice this when his mother took him to bed, he didn't comment on the worry she tried so hard to hide on her painfully expressive face. He didn't question why he was sent to stay with his aunt and uncle the next day, and he did not ask who the strange men in his living room, talking to his father, were.

He didn't ask because he knew, somehow, that no would answer. Because no one wanted to answer.

His aunt and uncle were never very fond of children, yet, for some reason, his aunt seemed to keep a constant eye on him, almost as though she was worried he would disappear when the wind changed. She would hug him and allow him to sit on her lap, and feed him treats, while his uncle kept making and answering hushed phone calls.

And still, Ludwig remained silent, answering everything with only a nod or a shake of his head, because he knew, he just knew, that speaking would be wrong somehow.

Being quiet, it was almost as though he wasn't there. His aunt seemed to keep a tight grip around his middle, as if she was making sure he was actually sat upon her lap, and would brush his fair blonde hair occasionally, but that was all the heed she paid him. Whenever his uncle hung up the phone, she would interrogate him about the conversation, whispering, occasionally letting her hands stop beside Ludwig's ears, as if trying to shield him from their words. She failed, and he heard snatches; snatches that would haunt him some seventeen years later. Words like "suspected kidnapping", and "evidence of violence". Words that would make him feel guilty for being born the out-dated idea of a perfect German, instead of albino.

It took them three days to find Gilbert. And when they did, he was, by some miracle, alive. He was also, for some reason, in Austria.

The dark truth behind the reason Gilbert was in Austria wouldn't be revealed to Ludwig until he was old enough to work it out for himself. His parents never told him that his brother had practically been abducted by a group of thugs from his school, a group of thugs who had been bullying him for his pale skin and red eyes. They never told him the atrocities these boys decided to carry out- no, the entire truth would not be revealed to him until he told his uncle that he had worked out the basic facts, and his uncle described the rest of the unfortunate circumstances that had befallen his brother. Ludwig at the time was a tad too innocent to suspect that a group of sixteen year olds could grab a boy some five years younger, and beat him, spray paint in his eyes, and most likely rape him, before shoving him on the first train they could find with no regard for its destination.

However Gilbert had managed to survive, and stumble blindly through Vienna, he had somehow managed to do it. And he was taken into an Austrian hospital by a stranger, the authorities were notified and, lo and behold! Ludwig could only imagine the surprise of the hospital when they realised that their patient's description perfectly matched that of the most recent admission to the German Missing Persons list.

At the time, Ludwig had been confused. But he didn't say anything during the seven or so hours he spent in the back of his aunt's car, and he didn't say anything when they stopped outside the hospital. In fact, the boy said nothing for the entirety of the three days Gilbert was missing, until he found his father. And then, his only words caused his mother to burst into tears.

"Is Gilbert dead?"

The phrase seemed too heavy for a slip of a lad like him. The innocent tone in which they were said was too much for his mother.

The question caused his father to scowl. Ludwig's father was a strong believer that children should be seen and not heard. "No," he had replied through gritted teeth.

"Can I see him?" the boy had responded.

His father had scowled further, his aunt comforting her sister-in-law in her husband's absence. "No."

"But-"

"Ludwig, I have said no, the conversation ends there," his father folded his arms, his tone sharp and stern.

Ludwig was not his brother. He didn't argue back. He didn't protest. In fact, he didn't do anything. He nodded, showing his respect for his father through silence. His father returned the nod curtly, then turned to his uncle. The two spoke in hushed German. The small blonde found himself sat in the seat next to his mother, before she pulled him onto her lap, and buried her head in his neck.

He didn't know how long he was sat on her lap, listening to her whisper sweet German nothings through her sobs, enduring her smoothing his hair back, and inhaling his sent, but he spent the time, however long or short it may have been, in emotionless silence.

The flow of tears down his mother's face didn't seem to end; she had married into the Beilschmidt family, and lacked their usual stoicalness. Gilbert seemed to lack it too, but Ludwig had inherited it. His father and aunt had been born with it, his grandfather also. It was as though it had been handed down through generations, occasionally skipping when whoever had married into the family, in this case, Ludwig's mother, was too emotional.

As far as Ludwig was aware, Gilbert had been the first albino added to the Beilschmidt family tree, meaning that his mother's side of the family must have harboured some form of albinoism in their genes.

Ludwig was sat on his mother's lap until a woman with fair hair and dark eyes, supporting glasses and a rather long, graceful, pale neck, exited the room they were sat in front of. She looked more like she belonged in the ballet than in a hospital, holding a clip board. "Herr Beilschmidt?" she asked the group, clearly unsure which of them she was meant to be addressing. Ludwig's father raised his hand, and went to speak with her. Ludwig himself listened to as much as he could, without obviously eavesdropping.

Eventually, when his father beckoned his mother over, Ludwig feigned sleep, so she had no choice but to keep holding the blonde in her arms as she joined the conversation.

"Frau Beilschmidt, as I was just telling your husband," the woman's German was foreign, yet familiar. It had a strange accent to it, but it wasn't unrecognisable. German was clearly her first language; Ludwig hadn't known they spoke German in Austria, but they clearly did. This was the local dialect. He found himself wondering what other countries spoke German, and wondered why someone had neglected to inform him of the fact that they spoke German in Austria. It was clearly a crucial piece of information, and he couldn't believe he had gone six years on this Earth without someone bringing it to his attention.

The blonde was so deep in thought that he missed the majority of the conversation he had slyly sneaked into.

And then the woman told his parents that if they wanted to see Gilbert before he died, then it looked like now was their only chance, and Ludwig's blue eyes flew open in horror. He wriggled free of his mother's grip, and dropped to the floor, ignoring his mother's protesting squeals. The landing hurt his knees slightly, but he felt himself driven by some unknown force.

This unknown force caused him to ignore his father yelling his name, and practically run into the room he had been sat in front of for what felt like forever.

The room was square, and had an unpleasant aura to it. There were one or two people milling around inside, discussing things Ludwig didn't understand, but Ludwig's concern was the albino who looked like he was sleeping. His little legs going as fast as he could make them, he pushed himself to the boy's side, and clambered into the chair beside it. He stretched his little arms across the chasm that separated the chair from the hospital bed the eleven-year-old was lying in, and wrapped his soft, small hands around a pale arm.

"Gilbert," he pleaded, "don't be dead. Please don't be dead."

The arm he was holding was warm. Dead people weren't warm.

"Gilbert!" Ludwig repeated, louder this time. "I know you're not dead! Stop pretending!"

That was it; it was one of the albino's tricks. He was pretending to be dead so Ludwig would go away and stop trying to make him get up and get ready for school.

Ludwig swore he heard a faint reply, a whispered reply, a reply, but he couldn't make out what it said. He couldn't even tell if he was imagining it.

"Gilbert!" This time Ludwig shrieked it, his voice masking the door creaking open, and his apologetic but angry father entering. "Gilbert it's not funny! Answer me! I know you're not dead, I know you're not!"

The anger in his father's heart evaporated. He extended a hand, planning on putting it on Ludwig's shoulder as he informed the blonde his brother wouldn't reply, when he heard a sound that made him freeze.

"Too... too awesome... to... to be dead."

It was strained, and full of pain, but Ludwig's young, desperate ears couldn't hear that. "I knew it!" he cried. "I knew it!"

Ludwig's father didn't want to call off his rejoicement. He couldn't bring himself to tell the blonde his excitement was short-lived.

"You can get up now, Gilbert, can't you?" Ludwig asked. "Mother will want to see you too. Tante und Onkel are outside also. They were worried about you Gilbert. We all were. But you were just pretending. You were too good at acting for us, weren't you? But you'll get up now, right?"

His father began to smile a watery smile. It felt uncomfortable on his face, but his heart was filled with joy at the thought of the last thing his eldest son heard being his youngest informing him of how much everyone loved him.

"-and the phone calls haven't stopped, everyone's been trying to find you. I think even Francis and 'Toni rang. I didn't know you were so good at hide and seek."

Ludwig swore he heard, "I'm awesome at everything," but a glance towards his almost-crying father, and weeping mother- whose entrance had also been masked by Ludwig's babbling- told him otherwise.

He had no idea how long he sat there, talking, but eventually the blonde ballet nurse escorted him out, telling him that his parents wanted to speak to Gilbert in private.

As Herr Beilschmidt sat in an Austrian hospital and held his first-born son in his arms for the last time and wept, because their journey was over, a few wards down Herr Edelstein held his first-born son in his arms for the first time and laughed as tears trickled down his cheeks, because their journey was just beginning.

...

Under normal circumstances, Herr Beilschmidt would have never allowed children to a funeral. But these circumstances were anything but normal, and at least one child had to be in attendance, so he saw no fault in allowing others.

That one child, the child that had to be there, was of course, the recently deceased. It was his funeral.

He didn't want too many children there; he saw one as being more than enough. He allowed close family friends the option of bringing their children, and extended the same choice to relatives. As things went, not many children did attend.

Ludwig did. His mother slicked his hair back, and dressed him in a smart, black suit he had never worn before. He thought she must have bought them, especially for today.

He sat in the front of the church, between his mother and his grandfather. The seat next to his mother had been occupied by his father, but he had gotten up to speak about Gilbert. His aunt and uncle sat in the row behind him. The Carriedos and the Bonnefoys were sat on the second and third row from the front on the other side. This was why Ludwig was not the youngest child there; the Bonnefoys had a daughter a few years his junior.

It was as he sat there, clinging on to his mother's hand, enduring his grandfather's disapproving glare- Ludwig had to express no emotion. If he cried, sobbed, or whimpered, it was a sign of weakness, and his grandfather would be displeased; this was why he was sat so straight, his face blank- that Ludwig resolved not to become an engineer when he grew up, as he had previously hoped to be, but to become someone who helped children.

He never wanted another child to feel as helpless and alone as he did at that moment in time.

After the service, they had gone back to his home. His mother had spent the morning cleaning, so that the house would be presentable, and started getting food ready. Now home, she asked him to let go of her hand, because she had to serve food, and speak to people, and she couldn't do that with Ludwig attached to her, could she? Ludwig hadn't let go, his aunt had sighed; she would be helping his mother serve food and whatnot.

Ludwig had been on the verge of rather uncharacteristically bursting into tears and begging his mother not to let go of him, when his free hand was taken by another. Surprised, he had turned to see that the tanned hand of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was now linked with his. "Señora," he said, smiling weakly. "Would you like me to take care of Luddy for you?"

His German was accented, and not very strong; it was clear he was uncertain that he was saying the right things, yet he spoke with such confidence, one assumed he was fluent. Ludwig's mother had smiled slightly. "It looks like you already have your hands full with Frau Bonnefoy's little girl. Are you sure you're up to taking care of my Ludwig too?"

Antonio had nodded, and Ludwig had craned his neck slightly to see Antonio's other hand was being gripped by Monique Bonnefoy, Francis' younger sister. She looked as though she was about to burst into tears, and was shyly avoiding meeting anyone's gaze. Her mop of wavy blonde hair had a black ribbon resting in it, and both her hands were wrapped around Antonio's as though letting go would mean certain death.

"I'll be fine," Antonio assured her. "I like looking after them. Mamá says all the time that I would've made a better big brother than-"

Ludwig's mother listened to Antonio babble in a manner that was almost cheerful for a little while, before she finally said, "Alright then. Ludwig, go play with Anton and Monika. Please. Just for a little while?"

Ludwig nodded solemnly. He let go of his mother's hand, trying not to let his displeasure cloud his face.

Monique spoke little to no German; she was three, and could barely speak French. At least, it seemed like she struggled to understand Antonio's accented French whenever his attempted to talk to her, but that could just have been a reflection on how poor the Spaniard was as a linguist. Ludwig spoke a few words of French, and no Spanish. The trio made poor conversation, with Antonio attempting to translate what each of them said with his own poor skills.

They were both dressed in black too. Antonio had a white shirt and black trousers on. His shirt was untucked, his black tie hung loosely around his neck, his top two or three buttons undone. The sleeves of the black blazer he wore had been rolled up, and stopped at his elbows, where there was a fold of scrunched up materials; the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up also. Monique wore a black velvety dress, and white tights, which she had managed to keep in pristine condition; the knees weren't dirty or muddy, no small feat for a toddler.

The trio struggled to keep conversation going, and in the end, Ludwig took the two of them up to his room. He and Monique played with his train set awkwardly; Ludwig tried to play with it, Monique liked to pick up trains and throw them at Antonio, or eat them, or clank them into the one in Ludwig's hand. Every time she did, Ludwig would tell her off in stern German, and she would cry at his loud tones, despite having no clue what he had said. Antonio would then try to comfort her, which didn't work remarkably well, as she didn't seem to like him.

It went on like this for a while, until eventually, accented German called through the door and asked if they were allowed in.

Francis Bonnefoy was also dressed in black; Ludwig noticed this as he entered the room. His shoulder length blonde hair was tied back with black ribbon, his white shirt was tucked into his black trousers, his tie hung neatly down his front, and the sleeves of his shirt reached his wrists, where they were joined by cufflinks. "I was just coming to check on my sister," he explained. "Maman didn't seem too amused by my leaving her with Antoine."

At the word "maman", Monique had stopped her whimpering and looked at Francis expectantly. He had sighed, and bent down to pick up the little girl. He held her gently, whispering to her in French, saying things neither Ludwig nor Antonio understood, before finally turning to Antonio, and speaking to him in Spanish.

Ludwig wished they could all just speak one language. He'd learn English if it meant he had a clue what everyone else was saying. He remembered how they spoke German in Austria, and wondered why they didn't speak German everywhere else in the world.

"How are you doing, Ludwig?" Francis asked, reverting back to German, and kneeling on the floor. Monique sat contently in his lap, playing with his cufflinks happily.

"Cissy, I don't think that's the best question to ask him," Antonio mumbled. Francis shushed him, and turned his caring gaze to Ludwig, who shrugged.

"Just remember," Francis continued, "you haven't lost a brother; you've gained two. Antoine and I will always be here for you, no matter what."

Ludwig nodded. Antonio chipped in with, "¡Sí! We're you brothers too! Sort of. In a way-"

Francis glared sharply at him, and Antonio fell back into silence.

"Now," the Frenchman smiled, tickling his sister's stomach slightly, "have you got any cards? Monique is the best snap player you'll ever see."

...

"I'm thinking of studying abroad," Ludwig admitted when, as per usual, the three families had met up that summer. This year, they were in Berlin, and he was sat at a table with his uncle, his aunt, and Monique Bonnefoy. The two were often lumped together, being the youngest of the families. Monique was still under the legal drinking age, Ludwig was just over it, but his aunt and uncle were keeping an eye on him, to make sure he didn't drink any, for some reason. His parents, Monique's parents, and the Carriedos were sat at a table just down from them, catching up, discussing old memories. Francis and Antonio had gone off to explore Berlin's nightlife, and it had been a long time since Antonio's older brother had last come on these visits with them. The last Ludwig had heard, he had moved to Portugal, and refused to speak to his family since; this was based on his intense dislike of his oblivious younger brother.

"Why?" Monique had asked. The two were conversing in English, because Ludwig's French was shaky, and Monique, whilst learning Italian and English, had never felt any desire to bother to learn German.

Ludwig shrugged. "I just want to get out of Germany."

"Where would you go?" Monique continued to question him as his aunt left the table, being beckoned over by her brother to relive some memory of her childhood with the other families. "Your French is awful at best, your Spanish even worse, and I assume you have no desire to move to Austria."

"They speak German in Switzerland," he pondered aloud. " I could study there-"

"You could," his uncle cut in, surprising the pair, as neither had known he could speak English, "or you could go back with Francis and Antonio. From what I've overheard of their conversations, England isn't the worst place in the world to study."

Monique snorted. "Why would anyone want to study in England? It has nothing significant; there are plenty of countries where it rains, and plenty of places one can study at for a lower fee."

Ludwig's uncle almost smiled. "I heard that the boys play poker in the dorms at night."

A gleam lit up Monique's blue eyes. Ludwig sighed. He had discovered last year in Madrid how well the girl could play cards; poker being her speciality. She pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, and replied with, "I bet lots of boys in university play cards."

Shaking his head, Ludwig's uncle muttered something about having high stakes, and Monique tried her best to look like she was paying no attention, but she clearly was enthralled. Ludwig himself ignored the conversation, and resolved to ask his "brothers" about England the next time he saw them, which he was sure would be tomorrow morning.

...

If there was one thing that could be said about England, it was that the beer was cheap. Ludwig's (rented) flat was shit. His roommate was a dick. The job he had taken to help pay for his rent and his education was mind-numbingly boring, and paid little to nothing.

However, no matter how shit his day was, he could always rely on Antonio and Francis to take him to some cheap bar, and to stay with him as he got out of his face with the alcohol.

That night found him lost in a crowded bar, filled to the brim due to the shitty weather outside. He couldn't see Francis, he couldn't see Antonio. He couldn't navigate his way through the throng of intoxicated people to discover the exit, and even if he left, he wasn't entirely sure where he was. He had never been to this pub before. Hell, he'd only been living in England a few months, and though he had thought he'd been quick to adjust, he wasn't willing to put this to the test on a rainy Friday night.

By some miracle, he found his way to the bar. Just in time to watch some idiot practically sexual harass the bartender.

He sighed, and gritted his teeth. He'd just have to stay in here until the crowd thinned out a little. He didn't know how long that would take, but he could wait. And while he was waiting, he could watch the irritated bartender continually swear at whomever he was serving.

The bartender himself seemed to be foreign too; Ludwig placed his accent as Italian, and as far as he was aware, the man with whom he was presently arguing with was from some other Mediterranean country. The bartender was getting far too irritated with the other man though, and Ludwig didn't know whether this was because he was over-reacting, or because he was too drunk to successfully understand the situation.

And then there came the sound of breaking glass.

Ludwig blinked. The area around him seemed to go quiet. And then there was pounding in his ears, a scowl on his lips, and no doubt a blush to his cheeks.

"Fuck!" yelled the bartender. "Bastard! Why the hell would you do this?"

Standing beside the now unconscious body of the Mediterranean man, Antonio beamed up at the bartender, "I was protecting you!"

As Francis began to apologise profusely to anyone who would listen, Ludwig realised that the reason they had come to this bar was because the Spaniard who had supposedly descended for a line of skilled warriors and strategists, a man whose family were geniuses, was slightly obsessed with the bad tempered barman. He sighed. At least he had found the drinking buddies he had inherited from his brothers.

He would've much rather had Monique for company; at least she wasn't a complete freak.

Ludwig picked up his nth pint of beer, and moved slightly, with the intention of making his way over to the Frenchman, who was smiling in an attempt to be charming whilst he handed a suitable amount of money to replace the breakages over to the barman, and his Spanish friend, who was clinging to the bartender, ranting about how he was always going to be there to protect him, when someone ran out of the kitchen, yelling at a high pitch, speed and volume.

"Lovi!" they called. "Are you alright? I heard breaking glass-"

And then they collided with Ludwig, the German losing his entire pint down their apron, the runner losing their balance and falling to the floor.

"Oh, Gott, I am so sorry," Ludwig began, unsure whether he was sorry about causing them to fall over, or losing his beer. He extended a hand to help them up.

"Don't be. It was my fault," came a high, feminine reply. The speaker sounded like they were about to burst into tears. They took Ludwig's hand, and the German found himself staring into large, watery hazel eyes. Beautiful eyes.

Suddenly, he forgot what it was he was meant to be saying.

The woman ran a hand across her eyes, rubbing the tears that were starting to form there. "I should pay more attention to where I'm going; fratello always says so. Mi dispiace. I didn't mean to hit you-"

"It's, um, fine," Ludwig swallowed the lump that had, for some reason, become lodged in his throat.

She shook her head, her red hair, which had been tied back into a high ponytail, bobbing with the motion. "This is why I usually stay in the kitchen."

"It's quite all right, Miss," the German assured her, placing her accent as Italian also. "No one was hurt."

"But... But your beer!" she cried.

A look of pain crossed Ludwig's face. "It... I've probably had enough anyway-"

"No." The woman shook her head. "I'll buy you another one when my shift ends. I'll buy you as many as you want, to show that I'm sorry."

Ludwig wanted to tell her that there was nothing to be sorry for, but he couldn't turn down the offer of free beer. He watched her weave her way through the crowd of people, before realising he had no clue who she was.

He pushed himself into the corridor leading to the kitchen just in time to watch her almost dissappear through a "RESTRICTED ACCESS" door.

"Wait!" he called.

The door swung open again, and a pair of large brow eyes looked at him curiously. "Sí?"

"I, um... I can hardly accept beer from a woman I don't know the name of, can I?"

She smiled at him. "It's Felicia," she informed him. "Felicia Vargas."

* * *

><p><strong>Extended AN:**

Yay to Germany centric chapters! Yay to backstories! Yay to uploading on schedule!

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. This is the part where I ramble about what has occurred, and you have the choice to read my rambling, review, or get the hell away from this story as fast as you can. Any of the three are cool with me.

So I think I've pretty much covered everyone's backstories now; we had Austria's in the first chapter, a little bit of Italy's in chapter three and this one, Germany's is this chapter, France and Spain are in it also... the only backstory left is Hugary's, which won't be for a while yet. This is because the next chapter will most likely be Germany centric AGAIN, with a hint of relationship progression lathered on the side- not strongly, though. The chapter after that will probably be more relationship progression, centric around that one pairing I told you guys to expect (haha, I'm totally not giving away a spoiler in this a/n, for once), and the chapter after THAT will be, woot, a therapy session. So no backstories for at least three chapters. Which is good, because they're backstories.

I wasn't entirely sure how to portray Monaco. I've never really read a fanfiction in which she plays a large part- I believe I read one where she sent Seborga a text in one- so I went by what I've gathered from the few times she appeared in the webcomic; she's good at poker and kind of snobby, but she has a good heart and is nice and stuff. So I tried to write her as a kinder version of France. Yay! In fanart, she always looks elegant and stuff, which attributed to the snobby thing, and being France's younger sister, you can only see that she's a snob when she talks about England. So yeah.

I used some of the varients of names in this, too. I found this website that's really good for it a while back, and wanted to try it out, so yeah. I don't think they really need definitions, and the language used was limited, so that also doesn't need a translation, but but but, the English variant of Ludwig, other than Lewis and all the names that come from that, is Aloiysius. For real. (It's also Dutch, pronounced differently depending on the language).

In the next chapter, France, Spain and Romano are going to sit Germany down for a nice, long conversation, and Germany will probably have a hangover and be moody and ill because of it. Prussia and Austria MIGHT make an appearence at the end.

Oh, I just remembered, I want to include Romania and Bulgaria at some point, but I'm not entirely sure what I'd call them. I know Romania's often called Vladmire or whatever, but some alternatives and suggestions for Bulgaria would be wildly appreciated, so yeah, you could give me some, or whatever.

Thanks again for reading, I hope you enjoyed. I'll see you next time!


	7. Chapter Six

**Author's Note:**

Argh... I don't even... What is this?

This is the second time I have uploaded late because I have somehow lost half of the work in question. For the full list of reasons this update is so late, see the final a/n, found below. Somewhere.

Thanks for sticking with me this far; it means a lot to me. I had a bout of writers' block and gave up on this so many times. I hope you all had more faith than I did. You guys are the best readers in the world. I hope this chapter is worth the extra week or so I made you wait. I really do.

So, Seborga and Romania make a cameo in this. Seborga I name Luigino, after the currency. Romania... Well, his name isn't really mentioned, but he gets more of a role that Seborga.

Warnings for this chapter: Spelling and grammar may not be the best, I proof-read, but urgh. The plot of this chapter... isn't the best. GerIta and PruAus, finally. If you squint, Spamano and AusHun. Swearing. Discussions about Nazi Germany. Genderbent characters- duh, fem!Italy's like, one of the main characters. Also, overheard slasher films.

Well... enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

Despite being German, and being able to hold his alcohol very well, Ludwig woke the next morning to a throbbing pain in his head. After his burning eyes had parted enough for him to see, he realised that someone had carried him up to his bed. He assumed it had been the work of Francis and Antonio; he really couldn't imagine Lovino or Felicia contributing to that effort. He also noticed that someone had removed his shoes, shirt, tie and trousers- he really hoped that it had been Felicia, but the possibility of it being Francis' work was all too real; he shuddered at the thought. Finally, his tormented brain registered that Felicia's side of the bed had not been slept in; it was still pristinely made from this morning. Or rather, yesterday morning. That meant that, wherever his wife had slept last night, it had not been beside him.

Groggily, he pushed himself up, grimacing with the pain. He felt bile rise up in his throat, but swallowed it, along with the urge to vomit. He rested a hand on his forehead and tried to make sense of the events of the previous day. He stumbled from his bed, making his way to his bathroom, trying to work out why Felicia hadn't slept in their bed last night. All of the ideas he came up with did not compute with his alcohol-soaked brain as in the realm of possibility. Of course, they weren't so far out of the Realm of Possibility that they had taken a trip down Insanity River and ended up in the Land of Idiotic Ideas and Drunken Conspiracy. They were just unlikely.

After stripping what remained of his clothing, Ludwig stepped into the shower and let the water soothe his aching body. He liked to imagine that the water was cleansing his thoughts as well as his body, but he still struggled to remember much of last night. He remembered coming home to find Antonio and Francis, and then... nothing. He faintly remembered drinking at home, as well as at the bar he had been at since somewhere close to four o'clock in the afternoon.

He supposed he hadn't really drunk that much. He'd seen Antonio and Francis drink continually for three days, and didn't doubt that, had he lived to be their age, Gilbert would've joined them.

Ludwig turned the shower off. The water didn't feel warm anymore. He knew this wasn't the shower's fault. He had frozen at the thought of his older brother. He stepped out and reached for a towel, his mind reeling, and his heart beating about twice as fast as his brain was racing. He dabbed at his damp face, before grabbing another towel to wrap around his waist.

It was almost as though he was on auto-pilot as he made his way into his bedroom; his brain had given up. It didn't want to think anymore. Emotions he worked so hard to repress tugged at his heart, trying to make it feel things he didn't want to feel. Trying to distract himself, he scanned the room. It was then he realised the time. 16:42, his clock read. That was practically quatre to five in the evening.

He had missed almost the entire day. Attempting to calm his steadily rising panic levels, he reminded himself that it was Wednesday. He had only missed Jones and the other American boy. He needed to leave quickly, though. He had a client at ten past five, and another at six.

As he pulled a shirt from its hanger, he thanked the Lord that neither of his clients were Roderich Edelstein. He really couldn't have dealt with that; not at that moment.

He was soon dressed in a white shirt, blue tie and grey trousers. He was searching for a blazer and his glasses when he heard a faint voice mumble, "You don't have to go to work. I cancelled all your appointments."

Ludwig looked up and met his wife's fearful gaze. She quickly turned away, avoiding eye contact. She began to stare at the ground, at something to the left of Ludwig that was resting on the floor. Her delicate hands were curled into fists. "That is what you're doing, isn't it?" she asked, nervously. "You're getting ready to leave for work. You're not..." She bit her lip, before bringing her head upwards, and locking her tearful hazel eyes with her husband's slightly bloodshot blue pair. "You're not leaving me, are you?"

"What?!" Ludwig was so startled his words came out as barely more than a whisper. "Why would I be leaving you?"

"Because!" Felicia cried. "Because I'm not smart or pretty or German! Because I'm stupid and clumsy and-"

"Stop."

She did. She expression of sorrow didn't falter, and she began to wipe some of the tears trailing down her face away with the back of her hand. Ludwig felt his knees begin to tremble, but whether that was because of his hangover, or because of how shocked he was that his wife was under the impression he wanted to leave him, he wasn't sure. He sat himself down on the bed, and added this to the list of troubling thoughts slowly corroding away at the practicality of his mind. He tapped the space next to him on the bed, indicating he wanted Felicia to join him. She did just that, and sat beside him, arms neatly folded and resting in her lap.

"I'm not leaving you," he told her, with certainty. "I would never leave you. I can't believe you would ever even consider that-"

"But there was a woman who rang the house and then you left work early and you didn't come home and when you did you'd been drinking and-" Felicia's words came out in a babbled frenzy.

He took one of her soft, delicate hands in his own, and she fell silent instantly. "I will never leave you," he repeated. "I had a bad day at work, and I let it get to me. I know I shouldn't have, but I did."

With her free hand, she wiped at her eyes. Ludwig could tell she was doing her best not to burst into tears again. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I just-"

"Don't tell me you aren't good enough for me," he cut her off sternly. "Don't ever think that. I may be slightly stressed from work, and there might be difficult times ahead, but here with you- whenever I'm with you- I'm the happiest I've ever been."

The smile that followed was watery. Ludwig's smile was natural, for once. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand once again, and whispered an apology.

Whatever either or the couple might've then said was lost to a yell from downstairs. It was followed by a bang. Felicia chuckled at the worry that flashed through Ludwig's eyes. "It's just Francis and Antonio," she explained. "They refused to leave until you woke up. They're probably arguing with fratello."

Ludwig nodded. Felicia continued, her expression almost completely back to its usual carefree state, "Anyway, I came up here to get my bag, didn't I? Ve, if I don't hurry, I'm going to be late."

"Late for what?" Ludwig asked, after she rose from the bed and opened the wardrobe door. "It's Wednesday."

"I'm meeting Luigino for dinner," she said, pulling her bag from where it had been placed sometime before. Ludwig admired that she had actually put it away last night; usually it was left lying around the house, along with most of her belongings, and her clothes. "It's been forever since I last saw him, I was getting worried, but then he phoned a few nights ago to talk and I was like, "Yay! Nothing bad's happened to mio fratello!" and-"

"I understand," Ludwig could feel his headache coming back. "Is Lovino going with you?"

She shook her head. "He's going to stay and take care of you!" she beamed. At his groan, her brows fell slightly. "Big brother Francis is going to stay too. And 'Tonio."

"Joy," he mumbled, running a hand through the hair he had forgotten to slick back.

Felicia looked at him with an almost sad smile. "Here," she scooped some of the gel he used with her hand, and smoothed his hair back for him. "Is that better?"

"Much better," he returned the smile. "Danke."

She just beamed. "Ve, well, I have to go now." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I'll let the others know that you're up. Ciao Luddy."

He watched as she ran from the room, and heard her call something in rapid Italian to her brother, and then the crash that meant she had slammed the front door to a close. He took a moment to contemplate their conversation, and how quickly it had gone. If the positions had been reversed, if he had suspected Felicia of going behind his back, it wouldn't have gone as smoothly as that. He would've probably yelled, and would've needed far more reassurance than Felicia had needed.

Maybe she trusted him more than her trusted her. It was clear to him that she trusted him more than he trusted himself. After all, he was convinced he was going mad. Insane.

He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, and tried to work out how long he could stay upstairs for. If the others knew he was up, then they'd be expecting him downstairs. However, he wanted to put as much time between now and when he would force himself into their company. It wasn't something he particularly wanted to do; Lovino hated him- hell, Lovino hated everyone, but those downstairs, plus Ludwig, were the people he hated the most. The Italian was insufferable, angry and rude at the best of times; Ludwig really didn't want to spend time with him after he'd been in the same room as Antonio and Francis for however long.

The realisation that he could put this encounter of no longer followed a series of loud bangs, crashes and yells. He forced himself up from where he had been sitting, and made his weary way downstairs. The scene that laid itself before him was not as bad as he had anticipated. Francis and Antonio were sat in the living room, chatting quietly, each cradling a glass of crimson coloured wine. Upon his entrance, they both turned to face him.

Francis smiled slightly, and nodded towards him by way of greeting. Antonio waved. He acknowledged both of them with a bob of his head, and sunk into the chair opposite the sofa the two of them had claimed.

"I understand last night was a slight... misunderstanding," Francis began, leaning forwards to place his glass on the coffee table.

Ludwig nodded, and gritted his teeth. "I had a bad day at work," he explained, thoroughly irritated that he had to explain himself to anyone.

"What happened?" the Frenchman asked as Antonio's gaze narrowed with concern. "What made it so bad you had to storm out of the office, like some spoilt brat who has not got their way, and then drink until you had erased all memory of it?"

Ludwig felt himself frown. He must have looked completely pathetic in doing so, as the action caused the concern already decorating the pair's faces to grow.

"Mi amigo, you can talk to us," Antonio promised. "We'll do whatever we can to help you."

"Oui," Francis nodded determinedly. "You're like a little brother to us."

Gritting his teeth, Ludwig closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. He contemplated telling them what was troubling him for the tiniest of moments, before remembering that he couldn't. He couldn't tell them what was wrong, and not just for the fact that what was troubling him was positively ludicrous either. He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he began, "but your efforts to help, while appreciated, are in vain."

Surprise caused Francis' eyes to grow wider. On the other hand, Antonio looked down, and mouthed Ludwig's statement. There was a moment of horror as Ludwig worried the Spaniard hadn't understood what he had said, but he shook that off by assuring himself that the brunette wasn't that dim, and spoke fluent English.

"Why?" Francis asked. "Mon ami, do you not trust me and my beautiful face enough to tell me all your secrets?"

Shaking his head once more, Ludwig began his explanation. "It's not that I don't trust you," he said, thinking very carefully about how to phrase his words, because, although he appreciated the Frenchman's company and friendship, he would never trust him with a secret of any form. Even as a child, he had been weary, and never told the boy anything in confidence, even if it was something as miniscule as "Gil is annoying me," or "I don't like your father's cooking". He licked his dry lips, continuing with, "it's that I literally cannot tell you. It's work. I'm not allowed to tell you anything about it; client confidentiality."

"Oh, so this shit has got something to do with a client, has it?" called an angry Italian accent from the now-open kitchen door. Lovino folded his arms across his chest, and fixed Ludwig with one of his best glares. "You fucking one of your patients then, bastard?"

"Lovi, don't joke about things like that!" cried Antonio, as Francis shook his head, muttering disappointedly about Lovino's use of language. Ludwig said nothing, returning Lovino's glare.

The Italian's eyes narrowed, but, for once, he broke away first. "I made you all dinner, bastards," he said, turning and returning to the kitchen. "You better be fucking grateful."

Ludwig rubbed his eyes tiredly. He wasn't all that hungry, and his head was throbbing slightly. The threat of throwing up was still all too much of a possibility. However, he knew that the aches he felt now were nothing compared to the agony he would have to go through if he failed to acknowledge the fact that his brother-in-law had cooked a meal of him. Consequently, he followed the others into the kitchen, and took a seat. Lovino practically threw pasta onto his plate, muttering to himself angrily in rapid, aggressive-sounding Italian. He narrowly avoided hitting Francis in the face with the metal spoon he was using to serve his cooking. That is, if one could call it serving. Ludwig thought it was more like a tennis serve than that of a chef plating up his meal.

Dinner was eaten, for the most part, in silence. Lovino was giving off an extremely threatening aura, and it seemed that no one wanted to end the silence and risk angering him. It was Lovino himself who ended it, after they were about halfway through the meal. He threw his fork angrily at the table and yelled, "Dammit bastards, at least fucking pretend you like my cooking!"

Instantly, Antonio burst out with praise, exclaiming that he didn't need to pretend he like it because it was wonderful, etc. Francis rolled his eyes at his friend's babbling, and Lovino didn't seem much more impressed.

Ludwig sighed. "It's good. Really." Of course, he had no idea whether it really did taste good, his senses had been rather numbed by the painkiller he had taken after entering the kitchen. Francis then nodded in agreement, but Lovino just scowled, and told the entire table to get fucked.

Conversation was quiet after that, and mainly between Francis and Antonio. Lovino seemed far too focus on angrily shovelling food into his mouth to join in with his usual insults and jeers, and Ludwig wasn't talkative at the best of times. He just wanted to focus on eating his dinner without throwing it back up. His stomach, however, had over plans. The more he ate, the worst he felt. His stomach kept churning uncomfortably, and he was forced to contemplate which would be worse; Lovino killing him for not eating all of the meal he'd prepared, or Lovino killing him for throwing up the meal he'd prepared.

Ludwig just grit his teeth and twisted another few strands of spaghetti around his fork, deciding he could power through it. He distracted himself by listening to the idle chatter between the pair sat across from him. He could ignore it. He could resist the urge to puke- God knew he'd done it before- and fight the bile steadily rising up his throat. And finally, that struggle ended in victory. His plate was empty. He had done it.

At least, he had thought he had done it.

Everyone, including Ludwig himself, was shocked when the German suddenly threw himself off of his chair and fell into the kitchen sink, where he then proceeded to vomit loudly. In with the surprised silence that followed came Francis' slightly smug smile and whispered remark to Lovino about his cooking. And this remark spawned an argument.

Felicia was surprised, to say the least, to come home to a shouting match between a sly-smiling Francis and her red-faced brother whilst Ludwig emptied his stomach in the background. Naturally, she ran to his assistance first, ignoring the fighting.

With Ludwig in an inadequate position to intervene, it fell to Antonio to assume responsibility and bring the fight to an end, but the Spaniard just couldn't bring himself to stop it; his Lovi looked unbelievably cute when his face was all red. He reminded Antonio of a tomato.

...

The silence was irritating. It just reminded Gilbert of how bored he was, of how mind-numbingly, brain-meltingly bored he was. He had nothing to do, no way to spend his time. Every now and again the silence would be broken by Roderich flipping a page, but, if anything, that just annoyed Gilbert further. It was a sign. It showed that Roderich wasn't bored, that Roderich had found a way to spend his time, to entertain himself. Gilbert thought it was rather cruel and spiteful that Roderich turned the page so loudly. It's like he was rubbing it in. He wanted the awesome Prussian to know that he was having a good time, and, furthermore, he was showing him that he could have a good time without Gilbert's assistance.

The albino was laying sprawled out across the chair at Roderich's desk. He was lying on his stomach, his arms hanging off of the front, and he legs bent so that his knees touched the floor. The chair was one of those that span, and every once in a while, Gilbert would twist it into movement with a simple leg twitch, or something similar. He would then spin for a few moments, before starting to feel dizzy and sick; sensations that only further fed his boredom. Roderich himself was sat upon his bed, his back against the wall and his legs folded, violet eyes staring intensely at marks left across cream paper by black ink.

Gilbert sighed, before pulling himself up from his not-all-that-comfortable position on the chair. He then proceeded to throw himself down on Roderich's bed, and ask, "What're you reading?"

"A book," the Austrian replied, his soft voice laced with irritation.

"The awesome me can see that," Gilbert scowled. He spoke through gritted teeth. "What's it about?"

"Nazis," came the, still irritated, reply, in a tone that clearly displayed his want for Gilbert to leave him to read his book in peace.

Gilbert shook his head. "Sure you're allowed to read it?"

The brunette looked up at him for a moment. "Whyever wouldn't I?"

"Well, I dunno," he shrugged. "You're Austrian, aren't you? Weren't your grandparents Nazis?"

After looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes for a few moments, Roderich looked back to his book. "Edelweiss Pirates," he said, not removing his gaze.

"What?" Gilbert asked, confused.

"My grandparents," Roderich explained, turning his gaze, still focused on his book. "They were Edelweiss Pirates."

"Right," nodded Gilbert, struggling to think of a decent reply. He bit down the urge to yell some nonsense about how awesome he was.

The silence returned, and Gilbert's boredom set in, this time worse. The silence felt awkward. Gilbert didn't like being involved in awkwardness. "What's happened so far?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. "In your book, I mean."

"A dead body has been dragged out of a river and the protagonist's son has decided that he hates him," Roderich replied, emotionlessly. "I'm not very far in, and I'm not going to get much further if you don't stop interrupting!"

Gilbert didn't know if his boredom was causing him to see things differently, but he couldn't help but awesomely notice that the irritated glare Roderich addressed him with, and the frown that matched, looked absolutely adorable. He chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?" the Austrian asked, confused. "Why're you laughing?"

For some reason, that only made the entire situation more amusing to the awesome albino.

"For God's sake, Gilbert," Roderich shut his book, marking his place with a slip of paper, becoming increasingly flustered, "what the hell are you laughing at?!"

Gilbert once again didn't know whether it was the boredom that influenced his actions, or whether he was forced into motion by how Roderich's irritated flusteredness just made him want to hug the Austrian, but whatever it was, one second he found himself awesomely laughing at something that amused him for an unknown reason, and the next he found himself silent, bringing his awesome lips to meet the frowning ones of his prissy Aistrain companion.

And, though he didn't know why he was doing it, he was glad that he was.

...

"So you kissed him?"

"Well, yeah..."

"And what did he say?!"

"He... he didn't say anything, Liz. That's kind of why the awesome me is here."

Gilbert was sat in Elizaveta's small, slightly dirty kitchen-slash-dining-room, which was, in effect, just a small room with a fridge, sink, oven and table shoved into it. Elizaveta was washing up the equipment she'd used to make dinner, her parents were both working late, and she had had no trouble with letting the albino in when he had shown up out the blue. He was sat at the table, on a rickety old chair that felt like it was about to collapse, his arms folded, and his lips twisted into a scowl.

"Did he kick you out?" she asked, trying to contain her inner joy at the fact the two had kissed, all the while feeling both slightly disappointed she wouldn't be able to share this juicy gossip with anyone else due to the fact that Gilbert didn't really seem to exist, and slightly sad for some completely unknown reason. It couldn't be because she had also liked Roderich, she knew that. There was no way it was because of that. Because she didn't like him... Wait, what was she saying again? She was in the middle of a conversation. "Or was it just so awkward that you left?"

"The latter," Gilbert sighed. "He just blushed and went back to his unawesome book."

"I could talk to him about it," Elizaveta began cautiously, "if you li-"

"Ack, God no Liz! How unawesome do you think I am?" Gilbert cried. "Let Priss start the conversation first. He'll talk to me about it. At some point. He can't resist my awesome forever!"

A gleam came into Elizaveta's eyes, one that was both regretful and mischievous. She put down the plate she had been scrubbing, and joined Gilbert at the table. "Gil," she started, smiling slyly, "why _did _you kiss him? Do you like him or something?"

"What?!" Red eyes doubled in size at the accusation. "No! I'm too awesome to- to like some prissy bastard like Specs! Und- Und also the awesome me doesn't swing that way! A-"

"So why did you kiss him?" Elizaveta's voice was quiet.

"I- What?" He didn't quite catch the unawesome words that interrupted him.

Elizaveta fixed her imploring emerald gaze on him, her deep green eyes reminding him of someone else, though he couldn't quite remember who. In a voice that was barely a whisper, she repeated, "If you don't like him," here she paused, adding depth to her already intense gaze, "why did you kiss him?"

"I- Well- I don't know!" Gilbert couldn't take all the pressure. He flung his hands above his head, and brought them down to meet the table with considerable force. His placed both arms on his forehead and scowled. "I just did!"

Slender eyebrows fell, and Elizaveta's face become a mask of sheer unimpressed features. "You just did?" she repeated, in a hollow, disapproving voice.

"Argh! I don't know!" Gilbert wailed. "Stop asking me these shitty, unawesome questions!"

Elizaveta sighed, and pushed her chair back. It scraped loudly across the floor. She rose, and turned back towards the sink. "Are you wanting anything to eat, Gil?" she asked, forcing herself to stay pleasant. She felt sickened by the idea of Gilbert kissing Roderich just because he was bored. Because Roderich was her friend, of course. She only felt the way any friend would, and wanted him to be kissed by someone who genuinely liked him like that. Because he was one of her closest friends. That was all.

Gilbert shook his head. "No thanks, Liz."

She ran a towel over one final utensil. "Then what are we doing in the kitchen?"

"Because this unawesome place was where you made the awesome me sit down when I awesomely showed up at your door, being all awesome, and then you made me tell you the whole unawesome story of how I awesomely-"

"That's enough!" Elizaveta didn't know how many times she could take hearing the word 'awesome'. "If you're not hungry, why don't we head to my room?"

"Why?" Gilbert asked, kicking the chair across frrom him, and pushing it back a tad.

Elizaveta sighed. "Because, Gilbert, some of us aren't invisible or imaginary or whatever the hell you are, and therefore must go to school, and must do homework."

Gilbert groaned. "And I have to help you with that unawesome shit?!"

She rolled her eyes. "Like I need your help. You can just sit in with me, keep me company."

It was then that Gilbert began to realise how lonely the existence of people who weren't Gilbert must be. He had never known loneliness. He had always had Roderich. When he hadn't had Roderich, he had felt alone, but the knowledge that he was awesome, and would have Roderich back soon had always comforted him. He didn't think he had ever felt true loneliness.

Except... Except for that one time. He couldn't remember it properly, but the memory was always there, at the back of his mind. He just couldn't for the life of him work out what it was a memory of; a time when he was sad, a time when he was lonely, a time when he had felt like he had lost everything.

He'd spoken to Roderich about it, but the Austrian couldn't recall a time where Gilbert had felt like that. And for Gilbert, there was no before Roderich. Roderich was his earliest memory. Roderich was his world, his life, his reason for existence.

Gilbert was an impossible thing, a person with no parents, who just existed for the hell of existing. The albino didn't know why he existed, but he had long ago come to the conclusion that he existed because of Roderich.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that he didn't realise Elizaveta had already left the kitchen. When he blinked back into reality, he leapt from his seat and hurried to her room, where he was met with the sound of slaughtering. Squelches as limbs were ripped and torn, splashes as blood decorated the floor in crimson splats, screams as life was painful snatched from miserable, tormented victims. Gilbert looked at Elizaveta curiously, in want of an explanation.

She was sat on her bed, her legs folded and her teeth grit. "It's him next door," she explained, angrily. "His living room borders my bedroom, and the fucking ROMANIAN BASTARD LIKES TO TURN THE VOLUME TO ITS HIGHEST, TO PISS ME OFF!" Gilbert's eyes grew wide at her sudden volume change, and he winced slightly. Almost as if it was in retaliation, the sounds of slaughtering grew louder. Elizaveta rolled her eyes, and she wore a smile that Gilbert interpreted as, 'challenge accepted.'

"You wait," she began, her voice at a reasonable volume once again, allowing Gilbert to slip into the illusion that normality had been restored, until she shattered it by continuing with, "SICK BASTARD GETS ARROUSED BY SHIT LIKE THIS. WE'LL HEAR HIM FUCKING HIS BOYFRIEND LATER!"

Gilbert looked down. "TMI," he muttered, as a cackle echoed through the wall, over the sound of bloodshed.

"YOU BET YOU WILL," screeched the cackler. "YOU'LL HEAR IT, HÉRDEVÁRY, AND YOU'LL LOVE EVERY SECOND OF IT!"

Elizaveta rolled her eyes once again, and reached into the bag hanging from her bedpost. Pulling out a folder and a pencil case, she immediately set to work- her room wasn't large enough for a desk and a wardrobe, and when faced with the choice, she'd chosen the latter.

Her room differed from Roderich's in more manners than merely size; unlike his, she hadn't kept her walls pristinely white. They were decorated with photos Gilbert assumed she'd taken, pictures he assumed either she or Sakura, her Japanese friend, had drawn, things she'd printed from the internet or ripped from magazines, posters, postcards and memorabilia. Gilbert rather liked it. The walls were chaotic, a mess of contrasting colours and images blending into something that shouldn't have work together, and yet did. He wagered that, if he had had a room, it would look something like Elizaveta's. Although it would probably be messier.

He watched as she worked, her pen scratches barely audible over the massacre of next door's slasher film. Her hair fell in curtains before her face, and she would occasionally push it back behind an ear, but only when it really began to bother her. When her hair wasn't obscuring her face, he noticed the gleam of concentration in her emerald eyes. It reminded him of Roderich, of the way he intently studied a piece of music before attempting to play it, of the way he would the consequently lose himself to the music.

Gilbert shook his head, shook away his thoughts on the Austrian, but that gleam in Elizaveta's eyes just brought him back to Roderich again.

He began to wonder what the Austrian was doing at that point in time, if he was thinking of the awesome albino who had kissed him and then ran away. He didn't know whether he wanted Roderich to be thinking about him, but how could the brunette not be? Gilbert was awesome. If his awesomeness wasn't worthy of Roderich's thoughts, he didn't know what was.

However, Gilbert continued to worry. Roderich could be thinking either good things about him, or bad things about him. He would rather the Austrian didn't think about him at all than be faced with the possibility that he was thinking the latter.

He wanted to voice his thoughts to Elizaveta, to have her consul him, but he couldn't vocalise the way he was feeling. He couldn't decide on any words, in neither English nor German, that would describe the way he felt. Therefore, he couldn't explain it to anyone, couldn't share it with anyone, had to keep it to himself.

He decided this was what being alone felt like.

And, for all his thoughts of how Roderich was feeling, he never came to the conclusion that Roderich was feeling exactly the same way he was. It never even crossed his mind. Because honestly, Gilbert may have been awesome, but there was no way on Earth he could have possible realised that Roderich felt just as alone as he did.

Except, Roderich also felt abandoned; abandoned by the imaginary friend he had grown to love.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an:**

Not all that pleased with how the chapter ended. This chapter in general, displeases me. But hey, it needed to be written. We've now resolved the whole Germany-is-cheating-on-Italy-and-she's-freaking-out plotline (or have we?), and we've finally had some form of romance between Prussia and Austria, which, let's be honest, is the only reason half of you have stuck with this story.

So, um, yeah... Not much to say about the story, really. Except, yay, Romania! First time I'd ever written for him, so that's exciting. Oh, and with Austria's book... gah, I really don't like that bit, I had writers' block the worst there, and just decided he could read the book I was reading at the time. Which, by the way, if you're wondering, is Fatherland, but Robert Harris. It's honestly one of the best, if not the best, books I've ever read. I recommend it. The Edelweiss Pirates came from an essay I was writing. They were a group, mainly made up of teenagers, who rebelled against the Nazis by listening to banned music and posting Allied propaganda through people's letterboxes. It just seemed like the sort of rebellion Austria would lead, so... that's why that happened.

This chapter is late for many reasons:  
>a) I was out of the country for a while, so kind of put all my writing on hold<br>b) My summer holiday isn't yet over, so I've been spending time doing stuff with people I know  
>c) Writers' block. Need I say any more?<br>d) General laziness  
>e) Got my exam results back- I got an E in Music. Austria would be ashamed.<br>f) Half of my work got deleted.

Yay for excuses!

In case you haven't noticed, I'm determined to get a cameo from under-valued characters in every chapter. So if you have a character who you don't feel gets enough love, review, and I'll see if they can't get a little bit of spotlight time in the next chapter.

Now; thank you for sticking with it this far, you're all amazing, I love you for reading (I'd love you a little bit more if you reviewed, though. I really want to beat Reversal with this, and we're nearly there! Only, urgh, twenty more reviews to go!)

Next time, there will be awkwardness as Prussia and Austria attempt to attend a therapy session with Germany after the whole kissing incident. Fun times, eh? Next months chapter will hopefully be uploaded on time, I don't know. My laptop may be removed from my care by then.

Until then, I love you all, keep reading, review, whatever~  
>Read some of my other stories, too. USUK shippers, if there are any of you reading this (which I doubt, but, who knows!) I know there isn't really anything for you here, but I'm working on a collab with the wonderful bobness, which might interest you a tad more. You can find that on my profile. Tried adding a like, but this website hates me, I forgot.<p> 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Author's Note: **

Wow. This is obnoxiously long for a chapter in which there is no plot progression. I swear to God, it is backstories and filler, and it's somehow the longest thing I've ever uploaded. I don't know whether I should be proud of this, or miserable about the contents of the chapter I've just produced. Urgh.

Thank you for reading. Sorry this chapter's a little late. I've been distracted. There'll be some important stuff in the longer a/n at the bottom, I'd appreciate it if you read that. I'm so glad you've all stuck with me for so long. I love you all, really, I do. Especially those of you who take the time to review. Those of you who favourite, I adore you. Those of you who follow, I hope seeing that this has been updated makes you smile, and your heart race in anticipation. Of course, I'm kidding myself that my writing could ever make any of you react like that, but hey! I can hope.

I hope you all enjoy what you're about it read.

Warnings for this chapter consist of swearing, backstories, Maths (Oh God no! Why would I put you through that? Why?! WHY?!) and also History. I think there are some mentions of Nazi Germany again, as well as references to wars fought by Prussia (specifically the War of Austrian Sucession, the Danish-Prussian War, and the Austro-Prussia War) and some stuff about the Berlin Wall. I spent ages researching that, in order to make it's mention somewhat credible, but I'm not German, so I can't really... say anything, I suppose. Sorry if it seems inaccurate, but if it is, please don't criticise me on it. I did what I could with the information I gathered from close to an hour of reading various webpages and textbooks, so yeah. Oh, also, there is my wonderful attempts at German in this. Most of my German skills come from a three-year-old exercise book, and that one German film I own, so sorry if the words aren't correct.

_Italic text is a flash-back-story. Just in case you couldn't guess. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

_Gilbert had never seen Roderich look both so angry and so heartbroken. The intensity of his expression, and the emotions it clearly displayed, would have been shocking on a normal person, but to see such a thing on the face of one who was usually so composed, so proper, so elegant and refined, it was frightening. Roderich was enraged, furious, miserable. In the nine-or-so years Gilbert had been his tormentor, the albino had never seen such real, raw emotion possess the Austrian. It gripped every inch of the boy's body, shook him in gentle shivers, and caused him to slam his door shut._

_Gilbert had no idea what had triggered such a display, but he feared it was somehow his fault. This fear was confirmed when the bespectacled brunette flung himself onto his bed after throwing both the pillows that rested there, as well as the alarmingly heavy hardback book that lay upon it, unopened since last night's escapades into the realm of fantasy, at the alarmed Prussian._

_And yet, the Austrian made no vocal expression of emotion. He threw things, he slammed doors, he sobbed his broken heart out, but said nothing. He offered Gilbert no information on the cause of his breakdown, he just allowed tears to erode his flushed cheeks, and his heavy breathing to rock his shoulders. As it became evident this flood of emotion wasn't going to surrender without a decent battle, the boy pushed himself upwards, until he was kneeling on his bed, head facing downwards, eyes on his duvet, back to Gilbert, facing the wall._

_Neither of the boys knew how long Roderich cried for, but eventually the convulsing of his shoulders became less violent, and less frequent, giving Gilbert an indication that he could now attempt to speak to the boy. He moved slowly from his seat in the chair at Roderich's desk, and sat himself on his bed. The mattress squeaked, an indent forming where Gilbert had chosen to sit, tilting the angle of the mattress slightly. Roderich didn't turn to face him. Roderich didn't even acknowledge him. The albino placed a pale hand on the Austrian's shoulder, and felt the boy tense._

_"Roderich?" he asked, cautiously, uncertainly. "What's wrong?"_

_There was silence; a silence in which not even Roderich's sobbing could be heard. The brunette pushed his glasses up slightly, so they were elevated, no longer resting on his nose, and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. After a deep breath, he mumbled, "I hate you."_

_Gilbert's red eyes widened in shock and horror at the statement. Roderich removed his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. "Me? What the hell did the awesome me do?!"_

_Roderich took another deep, rattling breath. "M-Mother's having another baby, and it's all your fault!"_

_At this statement, Roderich burst into tears again. He collapsed into Gilbert, who froze, with no idea what to do, eventually deciding he would place his hands on Roderich's back and allow the boy to cry into his awesome shoulder._

_"They don't think I'm good enough to carry on the Edelstein family name, to inherit it's worth," Roderich continued, his words now harder to hear due to the fact they were spoken through tears into a shoulder. "They want someone else, someone better, someone smarter, someone who can't see you!"_

_Gilbert patted his back reassuringly, despite being stunned by what Roderich was saying._

_The Austrian finally managed to find the real reason he was so miserable, the truth to why he was feeling so betrayed, and as he spoke it to Gilbert's shoulder the albino felt his heart grow cold, and skip a few beats._

_"They're replacing me," came the murmur, as Roderich pushed himself off of Gilbert's shoulder. "They're replacing me for someone who's better, who can fulfil they're specifications. Someone who isn't tainted by imperfection, like I am."_

_The albino didn't know why, but it hurt him to hear Roderich talk about himself like that. He hated the fact that someone who was, in his eyes, the most perfect person in the world, would think he was anything less than that. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Roderich had already began to speak again. He mumbled, in a distant, broken-sounding voice-_

"GIL, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WAKE UP!

With a sharp kick, the Prussian's eyes parted to reveal reality. His red eyes blinked in the harsh light, but he was to distracted by the pain in his vital regions to notice.

"Liz!" he exclaimed, suddenly bolt upright, then bent double, "why-?"

The brunette just rolled her eyes. She smoothed a few strands of hair down, then accepted it was a lost cause, and gave up. "I'm leaving for school," she said bluntly. "I'm not leaving you here asleep all day. That would achieve nothing."

"Whereas dragging me into your unawesome school that I don't have to be in would achieve-?" Gilbert left the question hanging, pushing himself off of the floor he had slept on, wondering why exactly he had relived that memory in his dream, and thanking the Lord that he was awesome, therefore able to quickly recover from Elizaveta's kick.

Pulling up her socks, Elizaveta fixed him a glare. "Did you forget about the whole 'kissing-Roddy-then-running-away-like-a-coward' incident?"

Eyes narrowed, Gilbert growled, "I didn't run away, I left. I left because he was being unawesome and ignoring me, and I couldn't find the words-"

"- To tell him how you really felt?" She cut him off, a hard-to-place expression on her lips. She could have been pleased, she could have been patronising, Gilbert couldn't tell. "I hate to break it to you, Gil, but that's because you're a coward."

"I'm too awesome to be a coward," he snarled at her.

"Prove it," Elizaveta replied, turning to grab her schoolbag. "Come into school with me, and tell a certain Austrian boy that you have loved him for years."

Gilbert's stomach dropped. "I... I can't do that, Liz," he mumbled, his bravado suddenly gone. "It'll be awkward enough, what with the fact we kissed and-"

"Are you worried he doesn't feel the same way?" There was a regretful gleam to her green eyes. At Gilbert's hesitant nod, she sat down on her bed, and tapped the space beside her, indicating her desire for Gilbert to sit there. He did as instructed, and she told him, in a voice that was both comforting and stern, "There's never going to be a perfect opportunity to confess your love for him, and you won't know if he feels the same way unless you confess. However, every second you spend delaying your confession is a second longer for him to find someone else, to fall in love with someone who isn't you." She smiled, sadly. "Understand?"

He nodded numbly. "I guess I'm awesome enough to suck it up and tell him."

"Good," she smiled, bobbing her head. She looked down, gave a brief tug on her skirt, and smiled at him when her gaze once again travelled upwards. There was something incredibly off about the smile, and Gilbert spent a moment pondering what it was. It looked false, but, at the same time, her happiness was genuine. He couldn't quite come to terms with how the two contradicting factors could work in harmony together. How could something be forced, yet willingly given at the same time? He ran a hand through his hair as he pushed himself out of the sleeping bag Elizaveta had so kindly provided him with, still in the same clothes he had worn yesterday- which, in all honesty, belonged to Roderich. When he had been younger, he had just worn Roderich's clothes, but now he was older, and both taller than Roderich and far too awesome for the clothes he wore, he dragged the Austrian, with Elizaveta often in tow, through shops, and forced him to buy him clothes- due to the fact he had lacked the foresight to obtain anything else.

It hit him as he was rolling the bag up, still wincing slightly at the lingering pain from Elizaveta's kick; he may be awesome enough to pretend it didn't hurt, but in all honesty, it was agony. There was no way the Hungarian could be happy and sad at the same time. The two emotions were polar opposites. He worked through every scenario he could in his head, until he found the only one that worked. He felt his eyes widen slightly, and his stomach drop. He really hoped it wasn't the case. He didn't want another reason for an aggressive, violent, hormonal teenage girl to hate him, especially if she was one of the two people he could actually interact with.

But he had to ask. He didn't want to, he knew it would be an awkward subject to breach, but it needed to be done. For curiosities sake alone.

"Hey Liz," he began, rising from his crouched position. He brought his gaze to rest firmly upon Elizaveta, who was staring angrily at the slim mirror embedded in her wardrobe door, a hairpin between her lips, two hands knotting her hair, and an expression that looked as if she were about to declare war on her reflection.

"Hmmm?" she replied, allowing her eyes to wander to the red pair reflected over her shoulder. She continued to weave her hands through the mess of brown she called hair.

"I, um..." Suddenly the albino lost the words he wanted to say, finding his answer in her eyes. "Nothing."

"Sure?" she asked, voiced muffled slightly, due to the pin clenched between her teeth. She yanked her hair firmly backwards, causing her eyebrows to rise.

"Ja..." Gilbert mumbled. He averted his gaze, choosing instead to study the floor. He didn't really want to know an answer anyway, and she'd made it evident in her all-too-expressive eyes; eyes that had contained conflict amongst her emotions- sorrow, anger, jealousy, resentment.

Gilbert didn't have much experience around human beings, and often doubted that he was one. From what he'd observed, it was extremely tough to be one. However, using the knowledge he had accumulated over the seventeen years of his "life", he was able to make an educated guess on... He wasn't entirely sure what it was on, but he was becoming surer every second that Elizaveta felt strongly for Roderich. Elizaveta shared his feelings for Roderich. Elizaveta was in love with Roderich.

He wasn't entirely sure how to deal with that. He felt inadequately prepared. And at the same time, he felt possessive, because what he had done last night made Roderich his. He didn't care if he was confused as to why he'd done it, or what he felt for the Austrian, but he had kissed Roderich. He had touched Roderich with his lips. He had shown his effection for his with the actions. He had claimed the Austrian, in a way. Elizaveta wasn't allowed to be in love with him.

No. That wasn't how he felt. Not completely. That wasn't all of it. He felt like it didn't matter that he'd kissed Roderich, Elizaveta had claimed him first, by merely being the two things he would never be; female and real. Elizaveta probably understood how she felt, had probably felt that way for a while, would probably treat Roderich better-

He decided he would stop thinking about that piano-fucking prissy bastard. This was his fault, for being so perfect, so wonderful, so easy to fall in love with. Gilbert was honestly surprised more people hadn't gotten bored and kissed him while he was reading books about Nazis. Maybe he'd make a habit out of it. Maybe he'd make a club of people, who sat around in a circle as Roderich read Nazi books, taking in turns to casually kiss him, and then run away. Because that idea wasn't sickening, not hardly. The idea of other people putting their lips on Roderich didn't make his stomach churn, or bile rise up his awesome throat.

Roderich was his. Roderich had always been his, and his alone.

At least, he had always been Roderich's.

It was with a sinking feeling that he watched Elizaveta go about her morning business; packing her bag, attempting to control her hair, trying to make her uniform look somewhat presentable, despite the face her skirt was far shorter than regulation length, her top button was seldom done up, and her tie hung somewhere down her shirt. He realised that how he felt didn't matter. It would never matter. Because when it came down to it, he didn't exist. Two out of seven billion people could see him. He wasn't real. He was imaginary.

His saliva caught in his throat, and his eyes began to burn, but he was far too awesome to cry. He'd never cried in his life, not once. Ever. He let his pale eyelids drop- no, he didn't do it to hide the fact he was unawesomely about to burst into tears, fool. Why would you even assume that? He did it because it helped him think. Once his eyes were closed, he had no influence from the outside world. It was just Gilbert, and Gilbert's thoughts; his thoughts which were, of course, Roderich. He remembered kissing him, and wondered what it would feel like to have Roderich kiss him back, to have Roderich return this feeling.

He might have been imaginary, but that didn't mean Gilbert couldn't imagine things.

...

For the first time in at least two weeks, the house was empty again. It was just him and Felicia, and that was how Ludwig liked it. Although the house did seem quiet, especially in comparison to the chaos that last night had been, what with Lovino, Antonio and Francis all being there, and Ludwig's hang over getting the better of him.

Ludwig ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back, and feeling himself fill with dread. It was Thursday. He usually enjoyed Thursdays; his clients didn't appear until later on, meaning he didn't have to go into work until at least four in the afternoon, giving him a tremendous amount of time to work on other things. One of these things was making models. He enjoyed assembling trains and planes, although he wasn't particularly good at it. It had been something Felicia had introduced him to when they had first started dating, and, gradually, he was getting better. He had always had an almost natural flair for the crafting aspect -he had wanted to be an engineer for the majority of his childhood- but struggled with art and detail; that was where Felicia usually helped.

However, he knew that today the time before work would be spent pacing, trying to distract himself, but failing miserably. Because it was a Thursday that he met with Roderich Edelstein. And Roderich Edelstein had an imaginary friend named Gilbert who fit into Ludwig's schema for his brother perfectly, and seemed to be slightly less than imaginary.

The German was terrified.

Fear wasn't an emotion he experienced often. He had had moments in which he had been slightly scared, and in recent years Felicia had been the cause of most of them, but he had never felt the true terror he did now. Except perhaps that day, however many years ago, when he had tugged at his brother's arm and begged him to wake up.

He hadn't told anyone about the incident with the girl on the phone; he knew how they would respond. It wasn't possible, hearing his dead brother, much less have his brother swear at him while arguing over the phone with a girl he could never have met. Ludwig was scared and confused, and felt like he had no one to talk to, no one to express his feelings to, and he hated feeling that way. He absolutely hated it.

Felicia glanced up at him from the pasta she was cooking, although why she cooked pasta every morning was still a mystery to Ludwig. He assumed she poured it into a container of some sort, and then took it into work with her, but he didn't usually sit with her for the entire duration of her cooking, so for all he knew, she could eat it for breakfast. Through the steam her saucepan was emitting, she gave him a reassuring smile, almost as if she knew how alone he felt, and wanted to make sure he understood he was loved.

He couldn't return her smile, but then again, he seldom could. He felt himself start to shake slightly, and wondered if this was another by-product of being nervous. Shivering, shaking, sweating; three Ss that lead to the one S he didn't want to be- scared.

He didn't believe Gilbert had come back to him, and at the same time, there was this nagging feeling of hope hand-in-hand with his terror. He wanted it to be his brother, he wanted Gilbert back. But he knew Gilbert was dead, and things couldn't come back once they'd hit death. Things that did were twisted, evil, monsters... And yet he'd give anything to tell Gilbert he loved him, one last time. It was something he didn't do as a child, not until it was far too late.

The Gilbert that Roderich Edelstein had as an imaginary friend couldn't possibly be Gilbert Beilschmidt. Gilbert Beilschmidt had been dead for seventeen years. Gilbert Beilschmidt would have recognised his younger brother's name, and come in to speak with him alongside Roderich.

Gilbert Beilschmidt had been real. Roderich Edelstein's friend was imaginary. There was no way the two were the same, unless the revived Gilbert was different to the Gilbert he had been while alive.

He clenched his hands and locked his jaw, and told himself that, if six-year-old Ludwig could make it through his brother's funeral, than twenty-three-year-old Ludwig could make it through his resurrection.

...

There was a chill breeze in the autumnal air, and Gilbert traipsed behind Elizaveta, enduring the silence, hands in pocket and breath condensating on contact with the breeze outside of his mouth and nose. The Hungarian beside him had tried to make conversation, but when it became obvious he wasn't going to respond, she left him to maintain his stony silence. She now walked slightly ahead of him on the route to school. Gilbert liked it like that; he was alone with his awesome and his thoughts, of which there were many.

He was trying to sort through his emotions, unsure of whether he had ever felt so many at one time. He was nervous, fearful of what the day might bring, scared he would have to confess his feelings for Roderich. He was confused, confused about exactly how he felt for Roderich, and terrified it was love. He was also angry; angry for himself for leaving, at Elizaveta for taking him in, comforting him, even though she must have been feeling bitter jealousy and resentment, and at Roderich, for being so perfect that he could have both his awesome heart, and Elizaveta's frying-pan-corrupted one, longing after him, and yet never noticing.

One foot in front of the other, he reminded himself. Stones and gravel crunched under the soles of his scoffed shoes, and he marched ever forwards. He wondered if other people could hear his footsteps. They couldn't see him, they couldn't see the clothes he wore, so he wasn't invisible. They couldn't hear him speak, but if he slammed a door shut, or slid a window down with enough force to cause it to crash into it's frame, they could both hear and see that. If he picked something up, people didn't seem to noticed it until he'd thrown it across the room- these were all things he had learnt.

Recently, he had become obsessed with figuring the limitations of his current state of being, hoping he could work out exactly what that state was, and then Google it, or something. He remembered someone once saying that you shouldn't use the Internet to self-diagnose yourself, but he was awesome, so he didn't have to give a shit about rules that applied to other people. However, to discover those limitations, he had needed to experiment. His research required a test-subject; Roderich's little brother had been perfect.

Gilbert had always been there, with Roderich. His earliest memories were with the Austrian. Gilbert was sure he had, somehow, been beside him since birth. He didn't entirely understand it; surely he would have needed to use the bathroom, or eat, or be cared for? Regardless of the logic, that was the way it had always been. He had always know he was Gilbert, and he had always known Roderich.

He didn't know how he knew he was Gilbert. It was just something he knew, like he knew he was Prussian, and he knew he was awesome. He guessed he was just born that way.

His thoughts were interrupted by Elizaveta, who subtly coughed at him. He looked up, realising that he had been so distracted by his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that they had arived at her school. She looked at him, her lips slightly parted, eyes wide, clearly not wanting to stand in the doorway too long, or say anything, lest she become insane. Her eye were wide, and her eyebrows tilted; a confused expression asking him a silent question. Her hands rested on the straps of her rucksack, and she kicked the floor awkwardly with one foot.

In silent response, Gilbert answered her question by turning towards her classroom, instead of Roderich's. She quickly matched his pace, falling into position beside him. The albino allowed himself a fleeting glance at her face, and couldn't quite make out her expression. He supposed she had hoped he would go after Roderich, resolve the issue as soon as he could possibly resolve it. Instead, he followed her to Registration.

Gilbert rarely spent Registration with Elizaveta; hell, he rarely went with her to her lessons. He stuck by Roderich's side. Other than Catering and Music, he wasn't even sure what Elizaveta was studying. It was as she held the door to the classroom open for him, eyes conveying her desire that he got in as soon as possible, that he remembered she studied Photography. And something else. He couldn't remember what.

The brunette quietly slipped into a seat beside a feminine blonde at the front of the class, mumbling an apology to the teacher for her lack of punctuality. The boy beside her smiled slightly, before brushing his hair behind his ears. The teacher just scowled, and told her to make sure it didn't happen again, before calling off names from the list before him. Gilbert spent the ten minutes tucked away in the corner of the classroom, eyes narrowed, studying the group. Elizaveta babbled with the boy beside her, and Gilbert tried to remember his name; he knew he was one of Elizaveta's friends, and that he was eccentric and strange and cross-dressed, but he couldn't quite recall what he actually answered to. Gilbert supposed he would just have to refer to him as Eccentric Strange Polish Cross-Dresser, until an alternative presented itself to his awesomeness.

It was strange, just watching the room, knowing they had no idea he was there. Gilbert didn't like it. He willed the ten minutes to go by as quickly as possible, and when they finally ended, he cheered inwardly. Elizaveta bid an awkard farewell to Feliks -aha! His awesome had remembered the Pole's name!- and waited for him, also awkwardly. He scurried over to her, and followed. In a strained voice, talking through one side of her mouth, although Gilbert thought it didn't matter, they were in a tidal wave of students, being swept in the direction the majority were headed, she muttered, "I have Maths. The seat to my left is free. You can sit there."

Gilbert was about to reply with some snarky, sarcastic comment, thanking her for allowing him the honour of sitting beside her majestic Hungarian arse, when it occurred to him that he didn't know how Roderich felt towards him at present. Perhaps the Austrian hated him- he had kissed him for no apparent reason, and then fled the scene. At the very least, he imagine Roderich would be mad with him; after all, the Austrian was seldom pleased to be in his awesome presence. If there were only two people in the entire world who could see him, he'd rather not have both of them filled with nothing but anger and hatred, so he just nodded. He had no guarantee she had seen his action, but he felt glad he had given her some form of positive response.

Roderich didn't study Maths anymore, and it had been a while since Gilbert had found himself in a Maths classroom. Whenever a subject grew too boring for him (and they grew too boring for his awesome far too often) he would leave. He'd sneak into other rooms, and spy on the students there, or he'd sit in the library and muck around on the computers -one of them was well hidden from the librarian's desk, they'd never notice him there. It was only recently he'd started going in to school with Roderich anyway. Initially, it had been because Roderich felt scared at school, having his only friend turn against him. He had told Gilbert he wanted him to come in with him, just for the day, and even as a seven-year-old, who had never been to school in his awesome life, Gilbert had known he was far too awesome for the establishment, and told Roderich no, he wouldn't go in, the Austrian just had to stop being an unawesome pussy and man the hell up. But then he'd come around to the idea, and gone into school with him. He kept him company. It wasn't unusual for seven-year-olds to have imaginary friends to play with, no one paid him any heed.

Of course, by the following year Roderich understood the severity of the issue with his imaginary friend; he knew that his parents had been trying to get rid of Gilbert since he was five. It was then that Roderich began to treat Gilbert like he wasn't real, with cold discord and scorn. He had treated him like that until they had met Elizaveta. She alone had restored Roderich's faith in himself, causing him to realise he wasn't insane. Gilbert had never been able to do that, no matter how many times he assured Roderich he was real. Elizaveta made Roderich feel normal, while Gilbert just reminded him he wasn't.

Gilbert hated himself for that. He hated that he made Roderich different, and at the same time, he hated that Roderich couldn't see that different didn't necessarily mean bad. It didn't make him insane. It made him special. His difference was what had given Gilbert... Given Gilbert life, he assumed, and he would be eternally grateful for that, no matter how stuck-up or uptight the irritating Austrian could be.

He took the seat Elizaveta had instructed him to, and watched her change. This was her natural environment, surrounded by people her own age, people she no doubt got on reasonably well with. The seat to her right was occupied by that Japanese girl she was friends with, and being in her presence automatically changed Elizaveta's stance. She seemed more relaxed, more at ease, in the company of others, like all the stress she was feeling, whether it was Gilbert-induced or not, just melted away.

The entire class seemed to hang on to every word the teacher said, although Gilbert couldn't work out why for the life of him. The teacher seemed to be putting himself to sleep with every syllable of accented English he murmured. He statements were followed by long periods of rest, as if he had exerted himself too much by merely speaking, and sometimes he'd even take length pauses between words in the same sentence. He was standing, but, although he was young and appeared to be in pristine athletic condition, it seemed that even that was too much of a feat for him. He looked as though he were about to collapse due to exhaustion.

And still, he had the entire classes undying attention. Elizaveta was taking hurried notes, the girl beside her taking a much more gentle set, and that Swiss brat Gilbert hated sat in front of him, aggressively tearing his paper with notes of his own. It seemed to Gilbert to be eons of the teacher's steady, sleep-inducing voice, until Elizaveta raised a hand and asked, "Mr Karpusi, how would one solve the equation "sine of the angle equals 0.6428, for zero, less than the angle, and less than three-sixty"?"

... the fuck? Was that even English? Was that what the teacher had been rambling on about for however long Gilbert had been in this shitty unawesome lesson? The hell did that even mean? Gilbert found himself immensely relieved he wasn't, well, real. If he was, he would have probably had to learn that, albeit a simpler version, at some point in his life. He was glad that, thus far, he hadn't needed to.

Why was he still even there? It was a Thursday, Roderich would be in Music Theory- No. Just... Just no. He would not go to Roderich. Not knowing was better than knowing. Blissful ignorance. That was what they said, right? That ignorance is blissful?

Gilbert wasn't ready to face Roderich, and the consequences of his actions. He would never be ready. Ever. He want to crawl into some hole somewhere and die. He wanted to be invisible to Roderich, like he was to everyone else. Why had he kissed him? Why? Why had he done something so stupid and reckless and incredibly unawesome? He'd just made life harder for himself.

He wasn't ready to face Roderich, but as chairs were scraped back and the bell rang out in it's loud, metallic tones, Gilbert knew he had to be, because he had less than five minutes before encountering the Austrian.

Less than five minutes to prepare himself.

Less than five minutes to establish a story.

Less than five minutes to decide whether he was going to tell Roderich the truth about how he felt, or lie through his awesome teeth, in order to avoid looking stupid, or getting hurt.

Less than five minutes before the world as he knew it very possibly came crashing down around him.

...

"Luddy, what are you doing?"

"What?" Ludwig looked up from the book before him, and met his wife's curious gaze. "I'm trying to get through to my mother," he answered, calmly, despite the anger building inside him, "but this stupid phone has something against Berlin numbers."

Felicia smiled. "Do most phones have a problem with international calls?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know, I don't often make them."

She cocked her head to the side. "You should invite your parents up, Luddy. It's been too long."

"I'd love to, but plane tickets aren't exactly-"

"Then why don't we go visit them?" her eyes gleamed with slight excitement. "We could take a week or so off work, I'm sure we'll find some reasonably priced flight-"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes still straining to hear anything other than the dialing tone. "Felicia, it's not that simple-"

"When was the last time you were in Berlin, Luddy?" she cut him off, placing her hands on her hips. "When was the last time you were in Germany?"

"I- I don't know, Feli," he replied, strained. "Do we have to have this conversation-?"

"Yes. Yes we do." She took the seat beside him, and removed his free hand from his lap. She held it within her own delicate one, and looked at him, her gaze imploring. "You've been working so hard lately, Luddy," she began. "Tuesday night... I don't want something like that to happen again. So we'll take a break, okay?" She smiled at him, and he felt his resolve start to fail. He was about to give in, when a voice, disrupted by interference, spoke from the other end of the phone.

"Hallo, dies ist Frau Beilschmidt," they said, much to Ludwig's immense relief. "Wer ist das?"

Ludwig gave Felicia a "We'll-talk-about-it-later" look, as he rose from the sofa and replied, "Mutti, ich bin es, Ludwig." Felicia took the German as a que to leave, rising from the sofa also, sighing as she did. Ludwig watched her disappear into the kitchen, and pour herself a drink.

"Ludwig!" his mother cried, her voice light and full of happiness. "How are you? It's been too long!"

"It has, hasn't it?" Ludwig chuckled slightly, realising how long it had been since he had last spoken with his parents- with anyone in Germany, for that matter. He felt himself smile slightly at the voice of the only member of the Beilschmidt family who wasn't stiff and emotionless; well, other than Felicia, he supposed. "I'm good, danke. Yourself?"

"Oh, I'm the same as always," she responded. Ludwig could hear the smile in her voice. "Still seems strange without you here, though." She laughed. "It's been five years since my little Luddy left for England, and I still can't quite get my head around it." She let out an immensely pleased-sounding sigh. "I miss you, darling."

"I- I miss you too, Mutti," he admitted, gripping the phone in both hands. The words sounded awkward in his voice, but it didn't half feel wonderful to be speaking in German again.

"So what do I owe the pleasure of this phone conversation to?" His mother's voice was light and airy, so pleasant and full of life. Even after however many years as part of the Beilschmidt family, her spirit hadn't broken. Even after losing her first-born son, she was still bubbling with joy. "Are you coming home? Did you win enough money to retire forty years early and come look after your parents in Berlin? Oh, perhaps you're phoning because I'm finally going to be a grandmother, is that right?"

Ludwig shook his head, but felt his heart sink. Did he really contact his parents so rarely that his mother would assume he only phoned to bring news? That had to change. "Nein, mutti," he mumbled, his voice sounding so irritated compared to her.

"No grandchildren for me? Ludwig, are you even trying?"

He sighed. "Mutti, we discussed this-"

"We could discuss it further if you came back to Germany for a weekend. Even better, you could take your wife to Italy for a weekend, then come spend the week here, with us. We all miss you, Ludwig."

He found himself pinching the bridge of his nose again. "I know, Mutti. It's been too long. I'll think about it."

"Think about what? The grandchildren or the trip to Germany?"

"Germany, Mutti," he replied, rolling his eyes. "But that's not why I called."

She laughed. "No, it isn't. We seem to have gone slightly off-track. What is the purpose of your call then, Luddy?"

"Mutti I'm... I'm calling about Gilbert."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and if it weren't for the steady crackling interference, Ludwig would have assumed the line had failed. Felicia, who had returned into the room and very kindly placed a cup of coffee on the table before him, looked up at him curiously with wide eyes.

His mother must have gulped, then taken a deep breath before replying. "Gilbert?" she said weakly. "What about him?"

"I... I've been thinking about him a lot, recently," Ludwig closed his eyes. "I just wanted to talk to you about him." When she didn't reply, he said, in what he hoped didn't sound strained, or bitter, or angry, "Mutti, it's been seventeen years-"

"I'm well aware of that," she snapped at him. He heard her inhale deeply. "I just don't... You're lucky your father isn't in. He doesn't like that name being said in this house."

"I remember," Ludwig replied, glancing over at Felicia, who was watching him with the same curiousity from the seat opposite, thankful she couldn't understand a word he was saying. "But-"

"I don't know what you're expecting me to say about him," his mother confessed. "That I miss him with every inch of my heart? That every morning I wake up shaking with guilt, feeling responsible for his death? That I don't worry constantly about you, worried that you'll be snatched cruelly from my grip? Because it's been seventeen years, Ludwig, seventeen long years, and I've finally stopped blaming myself." She sounded bitter, angry with Ludwig for breaching the subject.

"I had no idea," Ludwig spoke in barely a whisper. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"His room hasn't been touched, Luddy," she was suddenly less hostile, her voice once again soft. "His room hasn't been touched in seventeen years, because I'm still waiting for him to come home."

_"Mutti?" he began, cautiously, trying his best not to sound sad._

_"Ja, Gilbert?" she replied, running a hand through his silver hair. _

_"Why are you having another baby?" He brought his eyes, large orbs the colour of the most majestic rubies, to meet her boringly plain blue ones. "Am I not awesome enough for you?" _

_She chuckled. "Not at all, Bertie," she smiled, still stroking his soft hair. "Quite the contrary, you're far too awesome for me too handle." _

_"So then why?" he asked, turning and wrapping his small hands around her arm. "Why do you have to have another baby? Why aren't I enough?" _

_She sighed, and shifted her position slightly. "Gilbert, the new baby has nothing to do with replacing you. It'll be your sibling-" _

_"No it won't," Gilbert protested. "You'll love it more than me." _

_She shook her head. "Nein, mein liebling," she told him. "I will never love anything more than you." _

_"Vati will," he told her sternly. "He hates me." _

_"Your Vati doesn't hate you,' she informed him, scoping the boy into a hug. _

_"Yes he does," he stated adamantly. "He hates me because I don't look right." _

_"No," she told him, taking his small, pale hands in her own, "that's not true at all. He doesn't hate you, and you look fine. You are the most handsome Beilschmidt in history." _

_He smiled. "I am?" _

_She nodded. "You are." _

_"Am I handsomer than the new baby will be?" he asked. _

_"Definitly," she assured him, rubbing her stomach subconsciously. _

_"And I bet I'm stronger and cleverer than it'll be too!" he proclaimed. "Because I, Gilbert Beilschmidt, am the most awesome of them all!" _

_"You are indeed," she said, laughing as her son jumped from her lap to the floor. _

_He nodded. "That's right, Mutti. I am strong and brave and awesome. And I fight for you! And... And for Preussen!" he declared. _

_"Preussen?" she chuckled. "Really?" _

_Gilbert nodded furiously. "Opa told me all about how we won Silesia, and then crushed Österreich in seven weeks!" _

_"I wouldn't say you 'crushed' Österreich, Bertie," she murmured, making a mental note to speak to her father about what history he was feeding her son. "And didn't you lose to Dänemark? Twice?" _

_He shook his head, his silver hair sticking on end. "Once; the second time, victory was ours!" _

_To hear such things cried in the voice of a child was strange, but yet, she couldn't think of anything more normal for him to save. "Well then, for a brave Prussian soldier like you, having a sibling should be no trouble at all." _

_The boy looked down then, and stared at his feet. She began to wonder what she had done wrong, before he mumbled, "Vati says it's going to be a boy." _

_"What?" she asked. "Speak up, Gilbert, I can't hear you." _

_"The new baby," he inhaled deeply. "Vati says it's going to be a boy." _

_"Your Vati doesn't know that-" _

_"Grossvati says it needs to be a boy, because the Beilschmidts need a proper hair. Is that because my hair isn't yellow, Mutti? Is the new baby going to have yellow hair, and everyone love him more because of that?" _

_"No. No no no, not at all," she knelt down onto the floor, and opened her arms. Her son fell into her, close to tears. He rested her head on her shoulder, and started to cry quietly as she stroked his back. "No one is going to love the baby more than you, whatever it looks like. After all, it won't be a brave, strong Prussian, will it?" _

_She felt Gilbert shake his head. "No," he said, into her shoulder. "He'll be from the West." _

_Her blood ran cold, and she realised that this was more nonsense her father had fed him. At least her father wasn't denying that Gilbert was the heir to the Beilschmidt family, though. "Why do you say that, Gil?" she asked. _

_He pushed himself away from her shoulder, and met her gaze. "Opa says that the West are bad peoples. He says that they're still bad. He says that we built the war because they don't belong in Germany." _

_"Well, that's not true," she assured him. "A lot of people don't want the wall anymore, Gil." _

_"Opa does," he said, stubbornly. "He says it protects us from the West." _

_She couldn't removed her gaze from his intense ruby glare. "Why would the baby be from the West, Bertie? Why would it be bad, and you need protection from it?" _

_"I won't need protection from it," he recoiled. "It won't belong here, that's why it'll be from the West." _

_"That's not a very nice thing to say," she scolded. "Gilbert, the baby will be your brother or sister. It'll need you to love it, and care for it, and protect it. You'll have to be it's strong big brother." _

_"I don't want to!" he cried. "I don't want there to be another baby, I want it to just be me! I want to be the one you love the most, and I don't want the baby to take my Mutti away from me!" _

"He was my first born, Ludwig," she murmured, her voice distant. "If you ever have children, you'll understand. I love you, and I loved you both equally. I didn't have favourites, but your brother... Your father never gave him the love he deserved, Luddy. I couldn't help but choose him over you when you should have both been equal."

"I... understand." Ludwig had figured that much out for himself. "I didn't know about his room, though. Did you change mine when I moved out?"

"Why? Planning on moving back into it?" she laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "I want granchildren first, young man. If I don't get any, I'll be devastated. Time doesn't work differently in Germany, you know. I'm not getting any younger."

"I know, Mutti, I know," he couldn't bring himself to tell her that, while Felicia wanted children, the concept terrified him. He wasn't scared of being a father, or the responsibility, he was scared that his genes harboured some form of albinoism, that his children could endure the same fate his brother had had to.

"Good. Now, why don't you tell me about England? It's been a while since we were last invited to stay."

The conversation headed in a different direction from there, and, though Ludwig hadn't managed to ask his mother any of the things he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to change the topic, to say anything more about Gilbert. The emptiness his mother's voice had taken on had terrified him. He never wanted that again.

Instead, he let himself be distracted by her voice, paying no regard to the time or the price of this phone call. He needed this. He needed this sense of restored normality to cope with the insanity of Roderich Edelstien's imaginary friend, and if this normality came from an expensive phone call to Berlin, then so be it.

He needed to know that he wasn't insane, but, above all, he needed to remind himself that he wasn't alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended AN: **

Wait... A-slash-N? I ship that now. I ship it good. Someone say new OTP? Oh, yeah, I just did. A/N. God yes.

Anyway... wow. A lot of words, but no plot. I apologies.

Anyhoo, I will try to have the next chapter up some time next month, but I make no promises. I considered going a hiatus for a little while, but changed my mind. You see, the thing is, recently I've been so occupied with writing this and "Arianna in Wonderland", which is still missing an update for this month, damn, I'm running late, that I've left several half-finished oneshots that I believe to have a lot of potential to clog the memory on my computer.

I thought I'd take a hiatus from this story to finish them, but, now that I've finished this chapter, I'm all like, "Damn, I have so many ideas for the next one!" So, I don't know...

I'll update when I can. School is being a bitch, and there is coursework, coursework everywhere. No me gusta. I'm finishing this story though, no matter how long it takes me.

... Reviewing might encourage me to update faster?

No! Bad TotI, bad! No self promoting.

Yeah, but no, I am going to be concentrating more on my many. many unfinished oneshots than this, if only for a little while. I'm sorry ;-; I love you all! Check out my other stuff, so we can still be together!

Also, woot, next month is October. Halloween is in October, and I am definitly wanting to write something for that! You guys can like, follow me as an author, or just keep clicking back here to check for updates, because there will hopefully be something kinda creepy or whatever appearing relatively soon, to celebrate Halloween with. And, of course, it will be Hetalia, since that seems to be all I'm able to write, now.

I hope to see you all soon, I love you all dearly. Keep reading and reviewing, following and favouriting. Stay awesome, my little army of Prussians. Stay. Awesome.

Totl~


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